


Violently

by hunters_retreat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consensual Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual, Sexual Violence, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunters_retreat/pseuds/hunters_retreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse looms over their heads, but a haunting at Stanford could very well be the thing that breaks Sam and Dean Winchester apart for good.  As the brothers try to deal with their violent and volatile relationship, they have to rely on each other to stop the vicious murders that are happening on Sam's old campus.  With a hunt that makes no sense, can they put aside their dark past for the job? Or will it finally tear them apart in ways that angels and demons never could?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, thank you to the mods for the spn_j2_bigbang on livejournal for this challenge! Three years running and I still love it as much as the first!! Thank you! Next, to lavishsqualor who beta'd this for me! Amazing work and she really kicked this fic up with her help! Thank you so much hon! And lastly, in a place of honor, I'd like to send out a huge THANK YOU! and I LOVE IT! to letoist for the amazing art! Just ... the image right here is beautiful, but it's only one of many! Please, check out her[ art post ](http://letoist.livejournal.com/62414.html) and give her the love she deserves! It's just breathtaking! 
> 
> As a final warning, this is a very dark story and the inspiration for writing this was my thoughts on what could really happen to two young boys who lived in the seedier parts of the world without an adult to look out for them. This is a shade of the Sam and Dean we know and definitely a much different John. There are elements that are dubious consent, and depending on how you read them non-con. Please don't read if that bothers you. 
> 
> For those that read on in spite of the warnings, I hope you enjoy this warped version of the boys!

 

 

 

 

 

[ ](http://s1180.photobucket.com/user/hunters_retreat/media/Art%20Made%20for%20hunters_retreat/Violently/0006ds73.png.html)

 

The night was warm around him, the central air blowing softly in the background, and even that was too much noise.  The room was painted in streaks of bluish light, the moon casting in through the sheer curtains that Jess loved so damn much.  Sam could live without them, the whole damn place actually, just so long as he had her, but she loved to dress everything up and he adored her enough to go along with her decorating whims.

His heart was racing, but in a way that he associated with a good workout or a night with Jess underneath him, not in a scary way.  The sound of breaking in should have him running scared to the phone, calling the police, but he was Sam Winchester, and there wasn’t anything a human could throw at him that scared him.

Movement in the front room caught his attention.  Whoever it was, they were really good.  If he hadn’t woken at the sound of the slight creek, if he hadn’t been raised to be ever watchful, he would never have known someone was breaking in.  Even now, feeling the oppressive energy of another person unexpectedly in his apartment, Sam had to concentrate to find the guy. 

He knew the intruder was a man from the build of the shoulders, the height, as his silhouette caught in the moonlight.  Sam had a moment where something familiar crossed his mind, but then he was in the room and instead of the easy prey he’d expected, he was in a real fight. 

Blood coursed through his veins as Sam swung out at his opponent, only to find air.  There was no noise but the soft exhale of breath and the blunt force of flesh on flesh and suddenly he was on his back, blinking up as the air was driven from his chest.  The figure didn’t continue though, instead he found himself staring up in the dark of his living room at the last person he ever thought he’d see.

His brother smirked, and Sam could feel the arm on his chest move up slightly, ever so slowly, fingers reaching across Sam’s neck like he could squeeze and –  “Whoa there, easy Tiger,” Dean said, letting his hand slide back to Sam’s shoulder instead.  

“Dean?” Sam was having a hard time picturing his brother here.  The last time they’d seen one another had been bitter and bloody.  The angry words hadn’t ended when Sam walked out on their father, and he was just grateful John hadn’t tried to follow Dean out that night with him.  John did a lot of stupid things when it came to raising his boys.  Sam still wasn’t sure if staying inside the hotel room that night had been one of them.  He never thought to find out either, but his brother was still there, pinning him to the floor.  Dean’s weight was heavy on top of him, making Sam’s cock throb in memory, and his fists clenched trying to force the sensory-memory down.  Sam had a scar across his right forearm from the way Dean had thrown him up against a tree the night he’d left for Stanford, forcing Sam’s face into the bark as he fucked Sam hard against unyielding trunk. 

He never got the chance for his revenge, and the thought of Dean writhing underneath him made him knock his head back against the floor to stop the train of thought.  He was supposed to be over this.  He’d had two years without Dean, of straight, normal living to get over this violent need.  “You scared the crap out of me.”

“That’s because you’re out of practice,” Dean’s voice was light, but there was something else there as well, under the teasing notes, an underlying heat only Sam understood.  He wanted no part of it, never had, even when he’d been forcing his own way into Dean’s body, and it just showed how right he was to walk away while they were both relatively unhurt.  It didn’t still his need to prove himself, though, and he watched for a second before taking advantage of Dean’s loose demeanor and flipping him over onto his back.

“Or not,” Dean said, looking up at Sam, something appraising in his eyes.  God, the things Sam wanted to do to him.  It was his turn after all, retaliation was due.  Dean’s eyes hardened under him though, and it wasn’t the possessive need Dean usually gave off.  “Get off me.”

“Dean, what the hell are you doing here?” 

“Well, I was looking for a beer.”

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of Dean’s words, of his presence there at all, but he felt hollowed out by his brother’s appearance.  He’d spent two years trying to forget the feel of his brother’s body, the taste of his sweat and semen, the way his mouth felt when Sam forced his jaws apart, how he squirmed when Sam pressed into his body, mouth gagged so he could only make the most inane whimpers as Sam took what he wanted from Dean. 

Whatever Dean wanted from Sam, his appearance had nothing to do with beer.  “What the hell are you doing here?” his voice was cold as he spoke, trying to keep a safe emotional distance from his brother.

“Okay,”  Dean said, seemingly pulling them out of the dangerous ground they were walking and heading into the brotherly territory they needed to stay in.  “Alright, we’ve got to talk.”

“Uh... the phone.”

“If I’d have called would you have picked up?”

He thought about how to answer that but he had nothing.  He didn’t know if he would have.  How did they start that conversation?  Sorry?  A word could never make up for this thing between them, the violent, forceful acts they perpetrated against one another.  Nothing could, and Dean standing there in front of him, like he had any right to the normal life Sam was trying to build, made him want to remind Dean just who was bigger now.

“Sam?” 

He took a step back before he could gain the momentum to force his brother onto his knees.  He looked back at Jess and the world was spinning around him, the two people he’d always loved most and who he’d prayed would never come face to face.

It was gonna be a long fucking night.

If Dean didn’t get his ass reamed good before the evening was over, it would be a miracle.

**

He leaned his head back against the soft head rest, years of use and abuse making if perfectly formed to cushion his head.  He tried to keep his eyes closed as Sam took one last look at the apartment and the girl he was leaving behind.  He wasn’t sure he could bite his tongue hard enough to stop the angry words that wanted to spill out.  Words like betrayal, coward, thief, that were heartfelt, but only a shallow weight against the one word he could never say.  _Mine_.

“Just the weekend,” Sam reiterated as he gently closed the Impala door.  There was too much caution in that move and Dean wanted to yell at Sam, to tell him to remember who he was, to act like his brother again, but they were long past that point. 

Years and states away.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time, Sammy.  Some big law school interview?”

“It’s probably nothing, Dean,” Sam said, changing the topic. 

Dean didn’t answer except to start the car up.  The music blared on the radio and he smirked as Dirty Deeds played across the silence between them.  The song was slightly appropriate.  After all, a cheap bottle of tequila and a few beers had gotten them into this awkward situation anyway. 

Sam didn’t mean what he was saying though, and Dean wouldn’t have been there if it was.  No matter how fucked up he’d made their lives, he knew how to read his brother in most ways, and what Sam wasn’t saying was that their father’s disappearance might be nothing, but it was enough that he was getting back in the car with him again after nearly ten years of absence from the Impala’s passenger seat.

Dean pulled away from Stanford, feeling his heart grow lighter with each mile, but heavier as the city lights began to fade and turn into the darkness of the open road before them.  He usually took comfort from that.  The things they hunted loved the night, but out in the open country there were no people to make a mess of things, nothing to possess or haunt. 

If Dean ever gave up the hunting life, he was determined to go live like a hermit in some forgotten countryside where no one had ever lived or died.  It was the only way he’d ever get any piece of mind.  That was, of course, if he didn’t die young, and with Sam at his side again it was only a matter of time before they started ripping into one another again.

He was surprised they’d made it as long as they had already.  Hell, he’d almost had his hand around Sam’s neck as soon as he had him pressed to the floor of his squeaky clean apartment.  He’d wanted to, God help him, but he’d seen the way Sam’s eyes had narrowed and he’d let go against his own desires.

The memory was enough to leave him hard though, his cock straining against the fabric of his jeans.  The last time they’d been together, the night Sam had left for college, he’d held his brother’s life in his hands, chest heaving and body thrashing as he’d held him tighter and tighter.  Fucked him hard and curled his fingers over his throat, like he could force him into submission with his dick and his hands.  Dean had come harder than ever before, and even though Sam fucking gushed as Dean stripped his cock and gave him back his breath, as soon as he had gulped down a few breaths, he’d come up swinging.

By the end of the night Sam wasn’t the only one bruised, which seemed fair, because even if Sam’s was the only ass touched, Sam wasn’t the only one to get fucked.

“Gonna stop soon?”

Sam’s voice was deceptively quiet as the dark night began to make way to the lights of the next small town.  Dean wanted to sleep, wanted to pull over and let the burden down for a little while, but he wasn’t sure he could do force himself off the road yet.  He had no idea what was going on in Sam’s mind; his brother had been silent so far, and the quiet made Dean twitch.  Dean was far more experienced with Sam’s verbal assaults than he was the brooding quiet. 

It didn’t pass his notice that if they stopped, he’d be left in a room with Sam.  Nor did he miss the fact that if he didn’t, he’d be headed for a gas station soon to fill up and hit the bathroom.  Neither idea was appealing, no matter how much he’d wanted Sam to come with him. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want his brother there.  It was just that now that he was, Dean remembered how hard things had been for them.  He’d tried to block out most of the trouble, repress the memories, shove them down, salt and burn the fuckers and bleach them with alcohol when he’d had to.  It was all coming back now with Sam sitting beside him, the feel of his brother’s skin, how he struggled and fought to get out from underneath him.  The way he always plotted and carefully planned his revenge and got Dean when he wasn’t expecting him, fucking him hard and angry against whatever surface he could force Dean on top of, just the way he deserved. 

This thing between them was cyclic in some messed up way, abuser becoming victim in rounds as they lashed out at one another.  Dean knew why Sam hurt him, understood in his bones how much he deserved retribution.  He didn’t know how many nights he’d lain awake under the scratchy blankets of some filthy motel room next to his brother wishing he could take back that one night.  He couldn’t though, and he could never give Sam back what he’d taken.  What little of Sam’s innocence John hadn’t destroyed on the hunt, Dean had taken in a misguided attempt at protecting his brother. 

Sam looked away from Dean and back out the window when Dean didn’t answer right away.  It was a loaded question, though, and Sam damn well knew that.  Some part of Dean tried to hold back the adrenaline rush, hoping he and Sam could put their relationship back into some semblance of normality with the years that had passed between them.  As he watched Sam’s finger scratch lazily against his thigh in nervous agitation, he knew it was a lie though.  Sam was plotting.  He might not make his move now, maybe not here, but he had something in mind.  Sam always had liked to leave his revenge until the anticipation was thick between them, both so strung out that Dean flinched whenever Sam got close and Sam smiled viciously whenever Dean looked his way.

It was his turn.  He just hoped whatever Sam had planned, he remembered they needed to find John above anything else.

**

Dean wasn’t happy about finding John’s room and his clippings about a woman in white, but he was damn grateful for the lead.  A hunt would keep their minds focused on something besides the tension between them.  Things were steady there, the words a little harsher than their banter used to be, but neither of them was happy about the circumstances of their reunion.  Dean had always hoped Sam would call him, even if he wouldn’t come back to their life.  Hell, Dean didn’t want Sam to give up his normal.  He might have fucked up their relationship plenty over the years, but it never stopped Dean from loving his brother and wanting the best for him.  It was how he showed his love that always got twisted.

Sam didn’t make their relationship any easier though.  No matter how messed up Dean was, Sam had retaliated, and there was something about his brother taking his revenge that made Dean go back for more.  He didn’t do that psychobabble crap, but even he could see he was forcing Sam to punish him for something that could never be forgiven.  Acting out that first time over and over again when he’d begun feeling the guilt kept him from having to deal with what he’d done.

His head was drowning in the memories, and he pulled away from the wall and headed for the door.  “Let’s get moving, Sammy.”

Sam flinched at the nickname, a hard line forming on his lips.  “It’s Sam now.”

Dean stopped with his hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath at the censure.  “Yeah, okay.”

**

_“Sammy.”  Dean’s voice was hushed as he crossed the room.  Sam was a light sleeper and he’d wake too much if Dean was loud.  He wanted Sam awake.  He just didn’t want him completely awake.  Even in Dean’s drunken state he knew sleepy Sammy was easier to deal with._

_“Dean?  Y’okay?”  Sam’s sleep slurred voice asked as he shifted in his bed, turning his head to look up at his brother._

_Dean nodded and took a step forward, his tee shirt pulled off and dropped to the floor as he did.  He just hoped the fast motion managed to hide the shaking of his hands.  This, what he was about to do, it could change everything.  Sam had to understand though.  Dean loved him, he would never hurt him.  He had to protect him from everything, no matter how difficult that job was._

_He sat on the edge of Sam’s bed and kicked off his shoes, then lay down on his side, Sam still watching him from his back._

_“Long night, Sammy,” was all he could think to say when he realized his brother was still looking at him, concern written on his face.   “Just needed to be sure you were safe.”_

_Sam’s eyes lightened slightly.  At fourteen Sam was in a never ending argument with their dad, and both of them seemed to think Dean favored the other side.  The truth be told, he tried to stay the hell out of their way as much as he could.  He hated the feeling that his family was pulling him apart.  Times like this, though, he could see Sam melting a little because of something he did or said, and it made him feel good about being the brother he was.  
  
He reached out to tangle his hand up in Sammy's hair, feeling the silky strands that Dad wanted him to cut.  Dean argued with both of them about it, asking Sam to give in and telling John he should let Sam have a break, but neither cared to see his point of view.  He gave a tiny tug and Sammy's eyes widened as he let go, his hand moving further down to cup Sam's cheek.  "Should have kept you away from all this Sammy," his voice broke slightly as he whispered.  "No idea what's still out there, even knowing what's in Dad's journal."  He kept his voice low and steady as his thumb traced his little brother's bottom lip.  "I can't keep you safe from it all Sammy, but you don't need to worry.  I'll do everything I can to protect you."  
  
Sam nodded underneath him, and he could see how unsure Sam was about his words, about what he should say.  Dean smiled softly, more affection coming through than he usually allowed.  "It's alright.  With us I mean.  We're not like other people Sammy," he clarified.  "No one else, you can't trust no one else, just me.  We belong to each other, Sammy, and no one can do anything about that, right?"  
  
"Yeah, Dean."  His eyes looked uncertain but his voice was clear as ever.  Dean wished he were the eloquent one but that was never him.  Sam didn’t need his words though, he never had.  Sam would understand.  "Sure."  
  
"Good."  His hand drifted away from Sam's face then, moving down his arm in sure strokes.  He reached the hem of Sam's shirt and pushed the fabric back slightly, letting his fingers breeze over the skin.  Sam squirmed under him.  "You alright, Sammy?"  Dean asked, not taking his eyes off the strip of flesh that'd been exposed.  
  
"Tickles."  Sam said in a quivering voice.  
  
"Yeah."  Dean answered, transfixed by the sight of his hands on Sam’s pale skin.  "Gotta take care of you, Sammy.  Gotta make sure they don't hurt you."  
  
"Dean, who's going to hurt me?  Dad would never let the monsters-"  
  
"Don't!"  Dean shifted on top of Sam before he realized he was moving.  He was right in Sam's face, breathing hard to keep from doing anything more.  Sam’s hands pinned over his head was enough.  Sam's eyes were wider than Dean had ever seen and he figured that was a good thing.  Sam was ready to listen.  "Don't think the only monsters in the world are the types in Dad's journal or Bobby's books.  You trust me, Sammy.  You understand that!  You trust me and only me!"  
  
Sam shivered under him, and Dean saw the fear in his eyes.  Fear and pity, and he wasn’t looking into the second one too much.  Sam couldn’t know.   "I'm sorry, Sammy.  So sorry I have to do this."  He let go of Sam's hands and moved down his body, determined and ready to continue.  His fingers found the elastic of Sam's shorts and he pulled, ignoring the startled noise from Sam.  He felt Sam trying to sit up, but Dean pulled his clothing free quickly and pushed Sam back into the bed before he could get away.    
  
"Stop, Sammy.  I told you, you have to trust me.  I have to do this.  I have to protect you, from all of them."  
  
"Dean, you don't have to do this."  When Dean looked up into his brother's eyes he could see the understanding there, just like he knew he would.  "You don't want to do this."  
  
Dean licked his lips as he looked up at Sam, disheveled from sleep and Dean's own hands.  "Maybe I do want to, Sammy," he said as he leaned up and pressed his cock into his brother's tender stomach, letting Sam feel the hard length of him.  It was fucked up and he knew it, but he wasn’t doing this because it was what he wanted.   "But that's not why I am.  I have to, Sammy, have to make you safe.  They won't want to..."    
  
He trailed off and didn’t try to explain, just pushed away the memories – hands gripping too tight, pain as he tried to push away, too weak from blood loss and the hunt and confusion because where the hell was Dad_ – _to keep them from interfering with what he had to do.  He wanted this to be good, wanted this first time to be something memorable for Sammy, so he leaned up and nudged his brother's shirt up with his nose, leaving a trail of hot breath over sensitive skin.  Sam squirmed out from under him, and when Dean wouldn’t let him, he brought his hands up to Dean's face and pulled him up._  
  
_"Dean, please stop."_  
  
_"Sammy, I have to do this, now stop fighting me, or I’ll tie your goddamn hands to the bed," he looked up, really looked, and saw the fear back in his brother's eyes, and he hated it all a little more that he had to be the one to protect his little brother like that.  Hated that he wanted his brother so bad he could barely keep his hands from shaking as he pushed gently against his brother's shoulders.  Sam went down without another sound._  
  
_He moved down again, only this time he didn’t dawdle but went straight to Sammy's cock, taking it in one hand and letting his fingers run over it lightly.  Sam moved a hand up to his mouth, biting hard, and Dean thought maybe Sam understood then.  It only took a couple strokes before Sammy was hard in his palm and Dean reminded himself that he was only fourteen and anyone could get the same reaction from Sam right now.  The way Sam’s body reacted didn’t mean anything, didn’t mean his brother was as twisted as he was, and didn’t have the same dark past Dean was trying to protect him from._  
  
_He leaned over his brother then, allowing himself that little bit.  If it had to be him, if he had to be the one to protect Sammy, then he could at least make sure he enjoyed his first time.  He licked at the head of his brother's cock, and even if he was biting his hand, he could hear Sammy's moan.  The sound shot through him like liquid fire, and he had to keep himself from moving any faster.  He licked around his shaft before he took him down, licking and sucking as he went._  
  
_Sam's hips were starting to move under him, starting to thrust slightly.  Dean reached into his jeans and pulled what he needed from his pocket, knew he needed to start now or he’d never last.  He had his fingers slicked up and pressed against Sam's hole, before anymore doubts could assail him, and he sucked Sammy down further as he pushed his first finger inside.  Sam bucked up off the bed and damn near gagged Dean, but he pulled off his cock and leaned up, pressing his body against Sam's as much as he could, his hand going to Sam’s chest while his body pressed into his brother's hips.  "Gonna be good, Sammy, I promise.  Trust me, alright?  Just me and you, remember."_  
  
_"Dean..."  There were things in that voice Dean didn’t want to hear, so he pushed a finger to his brother's lips to shut him up, and Sammy took it in, sucking on his finger like he'd been waiting for it._  
  
_Dean couldn’t stop his own groan, and he worked another finger into Sam’s hole as he watched his brother's tongue sliding across the fingers of his other hand.  Sam's hips thrust up in time to Dean's hand, and he was working finger three in when he found that spot, and Sam was  off the bed again even with Dean draped halfway across him._  
  
_He stopped everything then and pulled away, watching Sam as he blinked up at Dean.  Sam watched as Dean stepped off the bed and slid his pants off, then as he sat between Sam’s legs as he covered his cock with lube._  
  
_"Dean... no... Not this."_  
  
_"Told you, Sammy.  Have to."_  
  
_Sam started to sit up, but Dean pushed him back.  That time Sam didn’t just lay back down though.  They wrestled on the bed for a minute but Dean had the weight and experience on his side, even if Sam was almost the same height as him.  He managed to flip Sam, which wasn't how he'd planned on doing this, but it was better than nothing.  He had Sam's chest pushed to the bed and Sam's turned his head to one side.  "You don't have to do this, Dean!  You want to do it and you’re drunk enough to find an excuse."_  
  
_Dean pushed Sam down further into the mattress while his hips edged forward slightly, his cock sliding between Sam’s cheeks before he pulled one hand back and positioned himself behind Sam.  "You trust me, Sam.  I know you do."_  
  
_"Don't do this, Dean. You don't have to."_  
  
_"Yes, I do, Sammy, just … you don't know what's out there."  He could feel the tears falling down his face, the tremors of memory he'd tried to evade for the last year now, and all he could think was he had  to keep Sam away from that sort of evil.  "I'll keep you safe, baby boy.  You just trust me.  You do, don't you, Sammy?"_  
  
_There was a break in Sam's voice when he whispered, "Not tonight."_  
  
_His words were more accusation than Dean could take.  He had his own demons, and he was fighting damn hard to make this about Sam, and protecting him instead of Dean’s own fucked up needs.  "You do, Sammy!  You trust me, goddamn it!"_  
  
_Sam didn’t scream when Dean thrust into him, but he could see where he’d bitten his lip hard enough to leave little red spots on the sheet.  He slowed his hips, instantly sorry for the aggression.  "Shhh, Sammy, s'alright.  Trust me.  Gonna make you feel better," he said, pulling Sam up, his back against Dean's chest, and this time Sammy was completely compliant.  He thrust slow and steady as he reached around for Sam's limp cock.  Dean’s fingers worked him well though, and he hardened in his brother’s grasp.   When Dean found his prostate with another thrust Sam's moan was pure pleasure, and Dean kissed the back of his shoulder.  "Good boy, Sammy."_  
  
_"Dean..." his voice was raspy and heavier than Dean had ever heard before, and suddenly he could feel Sammy's muscles clamping around his dick as he felt the wash of warm come coating his fist.  He pushed Sam down into the mattress then, thrusting deep until he felt his own orgasm pulsing through him._  
  
_He breathed through the aftershock, careful not to collapse on his brother.  When he pulled out of Sam’s body, he lay down beside him.  He pulled at Sam's hips until he was on his side as well, back against Dean’s chest where he could throw an arm over Sam’s waist.  He heard Sam's slow sobs and kissed the skin between his shoulder blades again.  "Shhhh, Sammy.  S'alright.  They can't take anything more from you now."_  
  
_He felt Sam stiffen against him, and Sam's voice was smaller than he could ever remember hearing it.  "When did they take it from you, Dean?"_  
  
_He pressed his lips to Sam’s shoulder, refusing to answer.   Sam didn’t need the words anyway.   He never had.  Sammy knew him better than that and he’d always understood Dean without them.  He fell asleep to Sam's sobs and angry mutterings mixed in with incoherent pleas to Dean and for Dean, that he didn’t   allow himself to hear._

_In the morning, Sammy was gone from the bed, and all that was left was the gaping imprint of who they had been the night before and of what Dean forced him to be.  He stood up from the bed, horrified, and then locked himself in the bathroom to throw up for an hour straight.  When Dad came back for help on the hunt that night, Dean was no better.  He swallowed bile every time Sam looked at him, fear and hate and pity bearing down too heavy for him to escape.  When he got hit that night he had no excuse and no regret.  His only thought was that maybe the monsters were doing them all a favor by taking him out._

 

__

**

The pressure was building.  Not that it hadn’t already been there, but as soon as Dean smacked the back of his head, Sam felt the desire burning through him.  This was messed up; the way Dean’s touch affected him.  He’d removed himself from his family completely to get away from it - with Dean’s blessing, even if their last good-bye had been brutal.  He’d never tell Dean, but he’d taken the bus to the first big city, hopped off and found a free clinic because he’d been bleeding so badly.  The staff there had tried to get him to report the rape, but they didn’t understand.  Dean could never take anything from Sam that he didn’t want to give. 

He reveled in the bruises and blood, because each mark meant Dean didn’t see him as something weak and broken, the way he’d looked at him that first morning.  John hadn’t seen Dean throw himself into the hunt that night though, hadn’t witnessed Dean throwing himself at death.  Sam had barely been able to contain his anger.  He could forgive Dean his drunken invasion, because as drunk as Dean was, Sam could have fought him off if he’d wanted to.  Sam fought for Dean’s sake, not his own.  If drunk and stupid was the only way he could have Dean, his fourteen year old self had been ready to settle.  He knew even then, though, Dean wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.  If he’d realized then what he was setting them up for, he’d have knocked his brother out with the handle of his knife that had been right under his pillow the whole time.

He’d still had hopes, back then, that Dean would someday realize what Sam felt, that he didn’t need to rip and tear and force his way into Sam’s body.  Sam had grown out of those dreams when he stepped out the door to go to Stanford; Dean telling him to get the hell out of their fucked up life and make something of himself as he pressed a wad of smoke-scented bills into Sam’s hand.   

Dean never came for him at Stanford, though Sam waited.  When he finally gave up on his brother he went out and found Jess.

Jesus, how was he supposed to go back to her?  She was beautiful and amazing, and he _did_ love her.  She would never be Dean though, his first and only lover before Stanford.  For two years they’d bandied words and patched each other’s wounds, fought like brothers, defended one another, and fucked each other raw in public way stations and restaurant bathrooms with their dad waiting outside or asleep in the front seat, letting them stretch their legs as he power-napped.  Two years, until Sam’s big mouth let on what had happened, and Dad became John to both of them when he beat Dean within an inch of his life and left Sam to the role of mediator.

Another level of anger and hate he could throw at his brother or father when needed.

He took a deep breath as he looked across the bridge where the latest trouble had been.  The darkness settled around Dean like a cloak, his eyes dragging the light from the moon until he was the only source of illumination Sam could see.  He swallowed against the lump in his throat, trying to push down the lust that tried to crawl out of his chest.

He took the hunger he felt and channeled it into anger, something far more comfortable for the Winchesters.  Dean made his anger easier.  He questioned Sam’s life, his need to get away from the hunt.  He knew his brother though, knew he was pushing, that he wanted Sam to push back.  When they started arguing and Dean pushed him back against the girder of the bridge he had to force himself still. 

As much as his younger self had been willing to settle, Sam needed to be more than a spoke in Dean’s guilt and punishment cycle.  Dean’s eyes were wide with anger and hunger and guilt, and Sam waited for Dean to force him around, to fuck him rough and hard against the metal, but it never happened.  Sam watched his brother pull himself back from the edge in ways he never had before. 

He wasn’t sure what would have happened then, but the woman in white was there, on the bridge with them, and the hunt took precedent over whatever emotional turmoil was working its way through the Winchester brothers.

When the car started toward them, Dean’s keys still in his hand, they had no choice but to run for safety.  For a fearful moment he thought Dean might have been lost as he threw himself over the side of the bridge and into the river below, but, as always, his brother came out remarkably unscathed. 

He couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that followed that realization, and as he managed to get himself back on the right side of the railing he was smiling like a loon.  As much as he’d always focused on the worst parts of this life, he’d almost forgotten how good the adrenaline felt rushing through his system.  He’d forgotten how good it felt to be truly alive. 

Dean was a mess, drenched and covered in mud and God only knew what else, and Sam couldn’t help but smile at the way his brother griped.  It was almost like the moment on the bridge was gone.  It reminded him so much of the old days, the way Dean would let him in at even the slightest provocation. 

When they got back to the motel, Dean slammed into the bathroom and Sam walked out, heading for the nearest restaurant.  There was a little mom and pop shop down the block, and Sam ordered take out.  When he got back the shower was still running and he banged on the door.  “Dinner’s up!”

He took a seat on the bed and flipped on the TV, coming up with a zombie flick, before tossing the remote to the end of the bed and digging into his roasted chicken.  When Dean came out a few minutes later wearing nothing but boxers and a tee shirt, Sam ignored the way his body ached and nodded towards the table.  “Country fried steak.”

“You’re a good man, Sam. Don’t let them tell you otherwise,” Dean said, as he walked past to grab the food.  He grabbed his white container and took a seat on the bed with Sam.  They were both resting with their backs against the headboard and for the first time in years, Sam found himself completely relaxed.

“Remote is yours, man,” Sam said, suddenly needing to fill the silence between them.

When Dean looked at him there was nothing dark or sinister in his eyes.  This was just his brother, the man who’d loved him his entire life, sacrificed more than he would ever admit, and who took care of Sam better than anyone ever had.  He smiled warmly back at Dean until a crash on the TV screen made them both look up.

They finished eating side by side, commenting about how realistic the zombies were, making bets on whether the actors would actually survive the smell of a real zombie, and how badly Hollywood portrayed the family business.

Sam’s eyes nodded closed a few times, but it wasn’t until the movie ended that he felt Dean pulling him down the bed.  His brother pulled Sam’s shoes and socks off before sliding him out of his jeans.  He helped Sam get his tee shirt off when his weary fingers made clumsy work of the fabric.  He felt Dean’s fingers thread through his hair, pulling the strands back off his face right before he fell into the pillows, blanket magically making its way up to his shoulders the way he liked.

When he turned over and placed his hand under the pillow, Dean’s hand was there placing Sam’s favorite knife in his reach. 

“Good night, Sammy.”

He shivered lightly at that name on Dean’s lips, but he was smiling as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

 

**

They were three towns over before Dean finally stopped for the night.  He was tired as hell, but he wasn’t about to let Sam drive the Impala after he’d just driven her into a building.  Luckily, the car had a sturdy frame and he hadn’t been able to see too much damage by night.  Come morning, he’d get a look under her and see what they’d really done. 

Dean didn’t bother to ask if Sam wanted first shower.  Once they were in the motel room, he jumped in the bathroom, under the steady stream of water and cleaned off.  Sam was fuming about something, probably their dad, and he didn’t want to have that argument again.  The woman in white was gone and the stretch of road was safe again to all passersby, so Dean counted the day as a win. 

When Dean got out to get dressed, Sam was pacing the room, and Dean ignored him.  He rummaged through his bag for clean clothes and slipped on his boxers and a tee shirt for the night.  He was exhausted and he planned to sleep hard.

“Fucking bitch knew.” 

Dean sighed.  It’d been a long time since he’d heard Sam so furious, but Sam wasn’t the boy he’d known four years ago.  He’d changed, become harder in ways and softer in others, and he didn’t know what to read into his tone.   “Knew what, Sam?”

“This.”

Dean knew what was happening as soon as the angry word dropped from his brother’s mouth.  He’d been waiting, both of them on edge in ways he had always hoped time and distance would cure, but he had never been so lucky.  He took a step back, but Sam had been counting on that move and he used Dean’s momentum to push him backwards.  Dean landed hard against the wall, the shock of impact making him malleable to his brother for a moment.  A moment was all it took as Sam turned Dean around to face the wall, hands wrenched around and held tightly at the small of his back. 

“Don’t do this, Sammy.”  He demanded.  He didn’t beg, wouldn’t, couldn’t, didn’t know how after all the years.  His foot was kicked out from under him and his stance widened as he caught himself.  “Get the hell off me!”  Dean yelled as he tried to push away from the wall.

Sam just laughed as he pushed Dean harder against the partition.  He felt his boxers being pushed down and then the sound of Sam’s pants as well.  He knew what was coming, and his breath became ragged because he was too off balance to kick out with his feet and his wrists were pinned behind him, held tightly in Sam’s humongous hands.  Sam had learned years ago not to let his head too close or he’d have bashed their heads together to try to get free. 

“Sam!  No!  Stop it!”  He screamed again as he felt Sam’s naked thighs between his own.  He felt Sam against his ass, felt his brother, long and hard and leaking, riding against his crease. 

“Fuck, Dean.”  Sam said, voice wrecked and hungry.  “So fucking long.  I didn’t even miss this until you showed up, had to drag me away from everything so you could play big brother again.  Does it feel good, Dean?  Having me back in the Impala?  Feel good to force me back into the hunt again?”

Dean struggled as he felt the head of Sam’s cock press against him.  “Know what feels good to me, Dean, the only part that feels good?  Forcing my way back inside you again.  Fuck, I missed this.”  And then he was pushing in, no prep, no lube, just pressure and pain and Sam’s hand pressed over his mouth to keep him from screaming so loud someone called the cops.

Sam’s hips pistoned in and out of Dean, his body slowly relearning what he once knew, shivering in desire even as he tried to break his arms free of Sam’s one handed grip.  Sam’s hand pulled away from his mouth and then Dean’s face was pushed into the wall.

“Stop fighting me, Dean, and this will be so much easier on you.  I don’t want to leave you bloody, but I fucking will!”  Dean’s whole body shivered at the voice, desire warring with the pain, pleasure beginning to warm him as Sam hit his prostate time and time again.

“Gonna show me, big brother?  Show me how much you hate it my cock buried inside you?”  Sam laughed harshly.  “Gonna show me how much you hate being taken by your little brother by painting the goddamn wall with come?”

Sam’s nails dug in hard, his thrusts harder, and Dean was sure there was blood, but he was so busy whiting out, orgasm screaming through his body, that he was barely aware of the pain.

He felt Sam pull out, bit his lower lip to keep from making a noise.  Bad enough he hadn’t been able to keep Sam off him, but he wasn’t a fucking girl.  He took the pain and rolled with it.

“Jesus.  I need to clean the hell up.” 

He didn’t look back to see Sam pulling away to go into the bathroom.  He didn’t pull away from the wall as he heard the shower starting up.  It wasn’t under he heard the pattern in the water that meant Sam had stepped under the spray that he finally pulled his boxers back into place, ignoring the slow leak of his abused hole, the need to check up on Sam.  Instead, he crawled into his own bed and closed his eyes, trying to figure out where the hell they went from there. 

**

Sam knew it was shock.  He could remember certain moments like they’d happened in slow motion – like the fire as it crept across the room, bursting out from Jessica’s chest to try to make its way to Sam – but other moments were gone.  He couldn’t remember Dean being there, didn’t remember his brother carrying him away from a fire a second time, but he remembered the strength of his brother’s arms and the smell of him – not all that different after the fire, which really spoke of how fucked up their lives were that Sam’s life went up in flames and it still smelled fucking good on Dean - as he sat in the back of the ambulance waiting for them to finish. 

He closed his eyes as tears tried to come again.  He didn’t deserve that sort of release.  He brought this on himself, killed the amazing woman he loved just by being in her life.  By walking out the door with Dean. 

He didn’t remember what the police and firemen had to say and he didn’t remember being bundled up into the front seat of the Impala and driving off.  He remembered looking into the trunk to check the weapons in the trunk, checking off the inventory list that still resided in the back of his head.  He remembered thinking they needed more iron rounds and they needed to pick up some extra blades and maybe another sawed off for himself. 

He remembered the motel room though.  He remembered Dean gently pushing him into the bathroom and starting the shower.  He remembered Dean’s calloused hands stripping his clothes off him and he remembered the way Dean grunted as Sam pushed his hips into the counter, burying his grief and anger in his brother’s body.   

He didn’t remember anything after that.  He didn’t know if Dean had come, if he’d been harsh when he pulled out of his brother – there was sure to be blood again either way – or if he’d been gentle.  He didn’t remember moving out of the bathroom or pulling on his boxers before sliding between the sheets.

When he closed his eyes though, he could see Jessica on the ceiling and he understood what his father must have felt all those years ago.  He understood how Dean could have become the man he had.  And he hated Jessica for making him understand that.  He hated himself for even thinking it.  He hated himself for surviving, but most of all he hated Dean for saving him.

The bed dipped down on the other side of him and Sam turned onto his side, away from where his brother was sitting. 

“I understand,” Dean said softly.

Sam didn’t say anything.  He didn’t want to hear his brother’s voice at that moment but he didn’t know if he could stop him either.  He opted for pretending to sleep even if they’d both know it was a lie.

“When you were sixteen, hell you probably don’t remember the moment.  It wasn’t the first and it certainly wasn’t the last time you stepped between me and John but …”

Dean’s voice trailed off and Sam was torn by the need to reach out and touch his brother and the need to shut him the hell up.  Dean continued before he could decide which.

“I was lying there in bed and I was all beat to hell.  One eye swollen shut and about as strong as a kitten.  John came into the room and I was mouthing off.  I wanted him to end it so bad I could taste it.”

And Sam knew what Dean was talking about them.  Knew and couldn’t stop the need to hear his brother’s confession.

“It wouldn’t have taken much.  His temper was always so damn bad and he’d already beaten the hell out of me for what I did to you.  He was ready and I saw it in his eyes, fists clenched, ready to step up to the plate and finally take care of me the way he should have.  But there you were, calling him out of the bedroom.”

Sam had been terrified.  John had beaten Dean within an inch of his life and Sam had sat by his side for five days, nursing him back to consciousness.  As soon as he began to wake up though Sam had fled – at John’s insistence, not his own - leaving John to care for Dean.  He’d come back to check on John when he was gone too long only to find his brother’s taunts had finally gotten under their father’s skin and he was enraged.  Sam had called John away, barely able to catch his brother’s eye before he was pulled down the hall and away from Dean.  He’d never understood the look in Dean’s eyes that night. 

“I deserved to die that night, I wanted to, and John was finally gonna man up enough to take care of you the way he should have instead of letting his goddamn quest get in the way, but you stopped him.  I never thanked you for saving my life that night and I never will.  I’ll never forgive you for it either.”

Sam felt  Dean stand up and he bit his bottom lip to keep the tears back.

“So you see, Sam.  I do understand.”

Yeah, now they both did.  That night, that look in Dean’s eyes, Sam felt it too. 

For the first time, he didn’t hate the things Dean did to him or for him.  He didn’t hate the way Dean made him feel or the way he responded to it.  No, tonight it was something else entirely, and Dean understood perfectly.  It was what Sam had seen in his big brother’s eyes all those years ago as he led John away from Dean’s broken body. 

He hated his brother.

 

**

 

Sam stared out the side of the car, his thoughts spinning like a tornado he had no hope of outrunning.  The scenery wasn’t much of a distraction, but when you grew up in the back of a car there wasn’t much that caught your attention when there was nothing to look at but passing fields and farm houses.  Maybe things would be different if they were headed someplace else.  Maybe it would be different if Dean didn’t look like death warmed over.  Maybe, just maybe, things would be different if the last four years of hunting together had given them anything but grief and pain. 

Dean was still nursing some heavy bruising and his lips were still cracked and split from the fight.  He ignored the pain in his chest at the memory of walking in to find his brother beaten by Alastair.  Watching his brother in a hospital bed afterwards had almost been too much.  It was almost as bad as the time Dean had been in a coma and chased by a reaper; maybe worse, because at least then Dean had been trying to talk to him. 

Now the silence was thick between them.  Angels and demons were giving them hell, the game was changing left and right, and all they had to hold onto was each other, only that seemed as unsteady as everything else.  Sam had to fight down the anger that someone else had bruised Dean, but that was a familiar ache he’d grown used to over the years.

Dean pulled over to a diner for lunch and Sam knew neither of them was eager for the hunt.  As best as Sam could make out a ghost was electrocuting people in a set of college dorms.  It would be an easy hunt to get Dean back into the game after the angels had taken him to play chop shop on Alistair, forced his brother to torture  the demon who had once tortured–and broken–him.  Sam just wished the hunt wasn’t at Stanford.

“You coming, Sammy?” Dean asked as he stood outside the Impala in the parking lot.  Sam knew his thoughts were too chaotic since he hadn’t noticed the car stop, but he had more important things on his mind.  Like how to keep his brother sane over the next few days and how to keep him close. 

He needed to be strong for Dean, he knew that.  It wasn’t that his brother was even weak, because once Dean set his mind on something he always got it, but Sam was afraid his brother was going to just give up completely.  He’d seen it happen once before and he wasn’t willing to watch his brother in another hospital bed because he was courting death.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he finally managed to say, as he scrambled out of the car to join his brother.  Dean would barely look at him for more than a second or two, so he walked slightly behind him, keeping out of Dean’s line of sight.  It was easier to pretend that way.

They had a table in the back and he sat at Dean’s elbow, trying to think of anything to say.  Nothing came, so he continued to look at the menu long after he was done figuring out his lunch.  The waitress came and took their orders, stealing their menus as well, so Sam contented himself with looking out the window.

“So, you know anything about this hunt yet?”

Sam took this words for the olive branch they was.  “So far there have been four deaths, all within a four block radius.  All four people were electrocuted.  The last victim’s time of death happened during a power outage in her neighborhood.”

“So no possibility of her slipping in the bathtub with her hairdryer,” Dean said as he smiled up at the waitress.  She set their drinks down and walked away leaving them alone again.

“There doesn’t seem to be any connection between them, but once we start interviewing witnesses maybe we can figure out what’s happening.”

Dean nodded as he took a sip of his coke.  Sam couldn’t help but watch the way his lips pulled tight around the straw, or how his cheeks hollowed ever so slightly as he sucked.  He had a sudden urge to drag his brother back to the bathroom and push him down to his knees and force his jaw wide open.  Dean looked up from his drink and Sam didn’t know what showed in his expression, but Dean’s eyes hardened as if he could read his thoughts.

“You think you’ll run into any friends at Stanford?” Dean asked, cruelly, since his brother knew the way the years had taught Sam to keep people at a distance. 

“It’s been four years since I walked away from Stanford.”  The waitress came to drop off their plates, and Sam poked at his meatloaf with the fork for a minute.  “Even if someone did know me back then, I doubt they’d recognize me.”

He looked up at Dean’s contrite face, realized Dean had just been trying to steer them into safer waters, and he took a deep breath to try to calm his irritation.  It was the demon’s fault, all those bruises over Dean’s body, bruises Sam needed to replace with his own.  He dug into the meat on his plate and ate with a single mindedness that was normally reserved for the eldest Winchester brother.  His mind, however, was on something else entirely, another hospital bed and another hunt where his brother decided the world would be better off without him along.

**

_Sam stared at his brother in the white bed, the walls sterile around him as the machine beat out his heartbeat for all to hear.  Sam hated that machine.  He hated everything about the room because the four white walls made his big brother look small and desolate.  He hated himself more because he knew why Dean looked that way and it had nothing to do with white walls and wires hooked to machines._

_He was angry, more so than he’d ever been before.  His body hurt from the night before, from the way Dean had taken him, but he was able to get around just fine.  He’d had a lot worse helping Dad and Dean on a hunt._

_The doctors said Dean would be in the hospital for a few weeks, which Sam figured meant he’d stay until the end of the current week but Sam couldn’t find the mercy in his heart to care.  He loved Dean with everything he was, and Dean had just gone out and fucked things up.  After the night before, after he’d claimed Sam, he thought Dean would keep him close.  He never imagined his brother would react so violently against what had happened between them._

_It set a fresh wave of anger through him.  He knew what Dean was doing the night before.  He didn’t know what had happened to Dean to make him so afraid for Sam, but it didn’t take a genius and Sam was pretty damn close to one.  His brother had been hurt, and in his drunken stupor his experience and his shameful desires had won out, so he’d walked into their room, settled on Sam’s bed, and taken almost every first-time Sam had left._

_Dean looked up as Sam took a step closer, his eyes wide and his skin suddenly pale as the sheets.  Sam had locked the door when he snuck in and knew the nurse’s routine.  He’d been watching them all day to see when would be the best time, and it wasn’t hard to sneak around the hospital after visiting hours._

_He snapped the curtain around Dean’s bed closed even though the room was empty of other occupants.  He slipped his shoes off and crawled up on Dean’s bed, needing to feel his brother’s heartbeat under his hand._

_“Sammy?”_

_Sam’s hand pressed down on Dean’s mouth to shut him up, the apologetic tone of his voice pissing Sam off even more.  “Shut the hell up and do what you’re told,” Sam whispered harshly._

_The tone was all John Winchester and Dean swallowed whatever he’d been planning to say.  Sam didn’t bother with other words.  He needed to show Dean he wasn’t some victim.  He was just as strong as Dean and he could give as well as he could take.  Dean would see then that Sam needed this more than anything.  He needed Dean strong and healthy and his._

_He let go of Dean’s mouth and couldn’t help but trace his brother’s lips with his fingers.  He pressed against them and two of his digits slid past Dean’s lips into the waiting heat.  He bit his lip to keep from moaning as his fingers coaxed Dean’s tongue into movement._

_When he pulled them out he didn’t bother to watch Dean’s reaction.  Instead, he crawled up his brother’s chest, being careful to avoid knocking into his brother’s damaged arm and leg, thighs spread wide around Dean’s chest as he pulled the waist of his sweat pants down.  He pulled his cock out with one hand and even though it was obvious what he was expecting, he had to use his other thumb to pry open Dean’s jaws._

_He couldn’t stop the next moan as he pushed his dick into Dean’s mouth.  There were tears in Dean’s eyes already, and Sam didn’t care, because tonight he deserved this.  After watching Dean recklessly throw himself into the hunt - the resignation in his eyes when he thought the nymph had him, and how he hadn’t even fought against her – Sam needed this._

_He slid his cock out over Dean’s lips, watching as he pushed back in, forcing his way down Dean’s throat.  He could feel Dean struggling under him, the way his throat constricted around Sam as he gagged, and he pulled back enough that Dean could breathe._

_It didn’t take long.  Other than Dean sucking him down the night before, Sam had never had anyone touch him like that.  As he thrust into his brother’s mouth he dropped a hand to his hair, watching Dean as he braced himself with his other hand on the back of the bed.  The position gave him more leverage and he moved quicker, snapping his hips forward as tears trailed down Dean’s cheek._

_“Oh, fuck, Dean,” he whimpered as his orgasm shot through him.  He thrust harder into Dean’s heat and watched his brother try to choke down his come.  He didn’t have a choice with Sam’s cock still pressed deep, and he shivered when he felt Dean swallowing around him._

_He crawled down the bed, careful of Dean’s injuries, until he could just lay there for a second and catch his breath.  When he had, he fixed his clothes and got out of bed, slipping his shoes on.  His legs felt like jello but he wasn’t sure if it was his orgasm or the knowledge that he’d just taken his brother like that._

_When he looked up at Dean, finally looked into his eyes after it was all done, he realized nothing was what he thought it was._

_“Sammy,” Dean’s voice was gravel deep from the abuse and the regret was thick on his tongue.  “I’m so sorry, Sammy.”_

_Sam’s body shuddered at the words.  “It’s Sam.”_

_He should have known Dean wouldn’t see.  His brother looked at him like he was the one broken, like the thing between them had made him into less of a person.  He still didn’t understand that Sam was strong and capable and he wanted anything Dean would give him._

_Anger filled his chest at the thought of Dean tossing aside his offering like that and he let the emotionn fill him as he walked out the door._

_Dean was in the hospital another five days, and Sam didn’t go back.  When he stumbled into the front seat of the Impala, Sam gave him a tight smile and went back to the latest book he’d borrowed from the library that would never make its way back.  John Winchester didn’t have time for library trips.  He didn’t have time for his boys either.  He looked at Sam in the rearview mirror, raised an eyebrow at the lack of reaction to Dean’s arrival, but just drove on as Dean got himself comfortable.  He had two bodies in his car and there was a hunt, so all was alright in John Winchester’s world.  He just had no idea how fucked up the lives of his own boys were._

**

The drive to Stanford was long, but at least at the end Sam could point them to a motel that wasn’t dirty and to a cheap restaurant where they could both happily order from the menu. 

It was early evening by the time they got done eating so they hit up the local newsstand and got the latest papers for Dean to go through while Sam trolled the internet.  Dean spread the papers over his bed and Sam set up the laptop on the table, hacking into the college police’s files to see what could be found out about the two bodies found on campus.  He hacked into the local police as well to see if they had anything.

“Hey Sammy, you said she was found electrocuted, right?”

“Yeah.”

Dean held up the paper where two reports were circled in red sharpie.  “I got another electrocution death on campus.  I’ve got something else though, a woman found drowned.”

“Where?”

“In the middle of the library.”

“What?” Sam asked as he pushed away from the table and grabbed for the paper. 

The article was brief but succinct.  “What the hell?”

“Ghosts don’t change their MO.  Two hauntings at the same time on the same campus?  What are the odds?”

“Dean, did you see anything in the paper about a tragedy?”

Dean shook his head.  “Nothing out of the ordinary.  I’ve got a real bad feeling about this hunt, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.” 

Dean’s eyebrow shot up and Sam just stalked back to the computer to see what he could dig up in the local online papers for the past few weeks.  He’d stopped correcting Dean on the nickname years ago, knowing how useless it was.  The fact that he knew Dean had just slipped up – that it wasn’t meant to be cruel – should have had him overlooking it, but they were at Stanford and Sam was jumpy as hell about that.

He was tense and waiting for Dean to make his move, more than aware of how the subject of college affected his brother.  Dean had been all for Sam leaving when he did, but ever since he’d come back it was a sore spot he knew was better left unprovoked. 

Sam loved his brother more than he should, and he knew Dean loved him too.  It didn’t mean Dean wouldn’t lash out when backed into a wall though and taking Dean to Stanford was like putting a wild animal in a cage and standing between him and the door.  If he couldn’t keep him calm, Dean was gonna spring with a ferocity Sam didn’t want to remember.

“We need some cash,” Dean said after a few minutes as he got up and grabbed his jacket.  “Know of a good place?”

Sam rattled off the name of a few bars he’d gone to when he’d been low on cash.  “Be careful, Dean.”

Dean stared at him from across the room, and Sam swallowed against the lump in his throat.  Dean would come back with a thick wad of cash, but it wasn’t why he was leaving.  As much as Sam was trying to keep his brother calm, Dean was doing his best to reel back his needs as well. 

“Don’t wait up, Sammy,” Dean said, his smile cold and mean as he turned his back, opened the door, and left Sam behind.

He spent a few hours looking for more details, half waiting for Dean to come back, but in the end he called it a night, just hoping his brother didn’t get into too much trouble.

**

The room was pitch dark but he relaxed as the bed dipped beside him, the familiar scent of oil and alcohol and leather that was his brother after a night of hustling making him relax his grip on the hilt of his knife.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice was dark, night whispered against the back of his neck, and he barely had time to register it before Dean’s hand pressed against the back of his neck.

He tried to push up but Dean had the advantage as he swung one leg up over Sam’s, straddling him.  He could feel the hairs on Dean’s legs and from his vantage point he could see Dean’s clothes in a pile on the floor.   “Dean, don’t do this,” he begged.  He knew it wouldn’t do any good, even as he felt Dean’s other hand pulling his boxers down. 

He kept still, waiting for the moment when Dean was off balance to push up and dislodge him.  He managed to get up, but Dean was still on him and all his struggles managed to do was help Dean pull the boxers further down his thighs.  Dean managed to get his knee in the middle of Sam’s back, forcing him back down to the mattress.

“Stay the fuck down, Sammy,” Dean’s voice was far more threatening for the wrecked sound of it, so he stopped, steeling himself for what was next.

Fingers were pressed into his mouth and he almost gagged on them the way Dean shoved them so far in, but he knew what Dean wanted.  He sucked and licked on his brother’s fingers, hunger and need and anger replacing the need to fight.  It was about fucking time!  He’d been waiting for this for three days, ever since he’d mentioned the hunt to Dean.  He needed to feel his brother’s claim on him, needed to know Dean still wanted him there.  He thought Dean understood, that no matter what happened he was with Dean, but somehow after all the years, Stanford was still a threat to Dean.  Maybe the way Cassie was still a threat to Sam, someone who had a part of Dean that Sam would never have.  He bit Dean’s fingers hard enough he caught the taste of blood before the fingers were wrenched from his mouth.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean complained as he pulled his knee back.  His dry hand was back on Sam’s neck holding him still while Dean wedged his knees between Sam’s legs.  He forced Sam’s legs apart and then his fingers were pushed in as one, punishing thrusts that twisted and turned and loosened him up even as they burned.

He couldn’t get away from Dean, and no matter how much he fought Dean, he didn’t want to.  He didn’t know how to make Dean talk about anything else, but this he could take.  When Dean took him hard and fast, he knew Dean wanted him.  He knew for this, at least, Dean thought he was worth fighting for.

The fingers were gone too quickly and Dean’s cock lined up against his hole.  “Dean, not yet, Dean,” he begged but he knew it was useless. 

Dean pressed in, his filthy fingers pressing against Sam’s mouth to muffle his screams.  It wasn’t just a burn, it hurt as Dean surged forward, and he would feel it the next day, but Sam loved that part of it.  He pushed his hips back, and Dean’s hand pulled away from his neck and mouth to grip him tightly.  “Jesus fuck, Sammy,” Dean moaned as he pulled Sam’s hips back, slamming into him.  “Always so tight, just like that night,” he whispered.

Sam shuddered at the mention of it, trying to find his way to his knees for Dean.  Dean kept him pressed down though, fucking hard into him.  He never mentioned the first time, and Sam didn’t know what it meant that he was now.  He needed Dean to be with him though, in the now and not back then.  Dean in those days had been broken and lost.  He needed Dean to be strong, needed him to find himself again after everything else had happened to him.

“That all you got?” he baited his brother.

Dean’s fingers gripped hard enough to bruise, and Sam arched his back to get more.  He felt his brother’s fingernails digging in as he thrust faster and faster in and out of Sam’s body.  When he leaned over Sam’s back one hand forced its way under him to grip his cock.  Dean stroked him hard in rhythm with his thrusts, and when Dean began hitting his prostate Sam was done.  His whole body seized up with the intensity of his orgasm, and Dean bit down hard on his shoulder as Sam’s body gripped him tighter.

Dean didn’t stop his hips though, just kept going, even as Sam’s body was a quivering mess underneath him.  “Yeah,” Dean whispered as moved back to rest his hands on Sam’s hips, keeping him in the position he wanted him.  “Always take what I give you, no matter how wrong, don’tcha, Sammy?”

Sam felt Dean’s hips losing their rhythm, and he knew how to send him over the edge.  “Come on, make me take it,” he answered.  “Always take it for you.”

Dean slammed into him one more time, and Sam ached where they were joined as Dean rolled his hips, trying to get even deeper.  Dean was coming inside him and Sam knew he’d be leaking later.  His dick twitched underneath him at the idea and he moaned as the rough sheets rubbed over his sensitive skin. 

Dean finally let go of his hips, but instead of climbing out of bed, Dean pulled out gently and flopped down onto his side next to Sam.  Dean’s hand moved up his back, tracing his spine.  He pulled Sam back into him but his fingers didn’t stop until they were buried in Sam’s hair, curling and uncurling with the rhythm of Sam’s heart. 

He didn’t know what to do, but with the beat of Dean’s heart at his back and his fingers in his hair, his eyes drifted closed and he fell back to sleep, sated and safe.

**

Dean stared at the bar, watching the people move in and around it.  The place was a college bar, that was for certain.  They had long tables towards the back where Dean could see two distinct groups of students studying as they passed around plates of wings and nachos right alongside pitchers of cheap beer.  Booths along the front corner housed older clientele where Dean had seen someone addressed as professor.  There were pool tables to one side of the bar and even a small stage next to them for the weekends when they had live music.     

Dean was taking a long pull from his beer as he settled next to a small group of friends.  He’d managed to get them talking about strange happenings around campus, but they’d long since moved on to inane ghost stories.  Every campus had its story about the haunted tower or the ghost in the theater. 

“Hey, good looking, you stare any harder and your boyfriend might get jealous,” the guy beside Dean said. 

Dean smiled back, as he looked away from Sam where he sat with his back to Dean, chatting up some students.  Tammy, Richie’s friend from freshman year apparently, refused to leave Dean alone.  It was easier to say he was gay to stay in their good graces as he got them to talk.  Rod, who was sitting  and whispering with her, had looked Dean up and down so wistfully that it wasn’t hard to guess which way he swung.  Dean had clarified then that he was there with his boyfriend.  Jesus, if Sam ever heard about it he could kiss his ass good-bye. 

“Holy shit,” Richie said suddenly, staring past Dean, before he could respond to his teasing.  Dean looked back where he was looking and watched as his brother turned, eyes wide as he looked their way. 

“Sam?”  Richie called over the noise of the bar.

“Richie?” Sam’s long legs ate up the distance between them, and he had Richie in his embrace before Dean had a chance to react.  “Christ, man, what are you doing still hanging out here?”

“I’m a townie now,” Richie declared as he stood back, looking Sam over.  “It’s good to see you.  I know, after Jess, you needed to be on the move, but there were a lot of us that missed you.”

Sam sighed, looking down at his feet, and Dean wanted to pummel Richie for bringing her up.  Sam saw Jessica everywhere they went; Dean could see it in his eyes.  It made him want to comfort Sam and claim him at the same time.  Without realizing it, he’d stepped closer, his fingers curling over Sam’s hip where his fingerprints still marred his brother’s skin.

Sam looked up, taking a deep breath as he looked at Dean. 

“Oh, man, I didn’t realize,” Richie said apologetically. Dean looked up in confusion, but Richie was staring between him and Sam.  “You came in with Sam?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, with a furrow in his brow.  The word was out too fast for Dean to stop it, but he could see Sam was working out that Dean had laid some sort of cover story.  “Who’d you expect him to be with?”

Richie smiled.  “Let’s just say I never realized you were barking up that tree too.”

Sam’s smile was confused, but Dean stepped in before it could get messy.  “Sammy, babe, why don’t we grab some drinks for everyone?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thought you hated to be called Sammy?” Richie asked as Dean pulled at Sam’s sleeve. 

Sam looked at him, and Dean couldn’t read his brother’s eyes in that moment.  He had no idea how Sam would react to this.  It wasn’t liked he’d planned on finding an old friend of Sam’s and outing them. Hell, he was happy enough to get Sam away from Stanford and everything it represented, but people were dying and they had to figure it out. 

“Dean’s the only one that’s ever been able to get away with it,” Sam admitted as he finally looked back at Richie.  Richie looked between them but just nodded, and Dean pulled Sam away from them to get back to the bar.

“Look, Sam, I just told them I was here with my boyfriend to keep from getting hit on,” Dean said.

“I walked right into that one, right?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dean.  There are worse things you could have said.”

“Yeah?” Dean huffed in irritation, “like what?”

“Like you were family,” Sam said softly.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean demanded.  Yeah, he’d fucked up their lives pretty good, but he never thought Sam hated him.  He’d wished sometimes that he would, but he never did.  When he’d come back to get Sam at Stanford he’d hoped things had changed, but he was barely in his brother’s door when he knew how wrong he’d been.  It wasn’t gone and it never would be.  Four years later and even though he was able to control his need, he still found himself lashing out with it from time to time, pushing his brother down into the mattress like he had just the first night, brutal and violent and never able to say the things he needed to say, to admit to what he really needed.  He had to take what he could from Sam because he knew Sam would never give it freely. 

There had been times when he thought, just maybe Sam might.  There was too much between them now though to make this thing pretty.  Sam took and Dean took, and even if he could no longer deny that it went both ways, he could never forget he’d done this to them.  He didn’t deserve Sam.  Hell, he’d known it even before the angels had shown up and taken him away.  They were right though.  Dean was only good at two things: hunting monsters/creatures and hurting people. 

He could still feel the steel of Ruby’s knife in his hand as he’d sliced into Alistair, felt the beauty of his pain in ways his soul had become accustomed to so many years ago with Sammy struggling underneath him. 

Yeah, he fucked it up, but even back then Sam had held his own, and Dean didn’t think he hated him enough to tell people so.

“Dean, I couldn’t tell anyone where I came from so I just said it was a bad place.  They inferred a lot from things I never said.  All I mean is if you said you were family they’d make a lot of assumptions.”

“Like?”

Sam looked down at his shoes.  “Like I was abused and neglected.”

Dean looked up at Sam and even though his brother refused to make eye contact, he could feel the guilt coming off his brother.  Sam didn’t tell his friends a goddamn thing, but they still came up to the right conclusion.

He wanted to say something to his brother, but nothing would come out.  Instead, he just rummaged through his pocket until he found his car keys.  He pushed them into Sam’s hands and walked away from the bar, ignoring the anxious tone in Sam’s voice as he called after him.

He had to get out though, away from the noise and Sam’s friend and the knowledge that Sam had exposed them so completely to a bunch of strangers who didn’t know anything about them.  Jesus, what had Jessica thought when Dean showed up, stealing Sam away from her?

“Dean, don’t do this,” Sam’s voice caught up with him, and he stopped to look at Sam.  His brother was begging, his eyes carrying his emotions as they always did. 

His hands were shaking and he let out a deep breath in an attempt to ease the ache in his chest.  He couldn’t leave Sam when he looked at him like that, like he needed him.  Dean was broken, he knew that.  He’d told Castiel in the hospital, but the damn angel just wouldn’t let anything go.  He’d wished Cas away, wished his brother back, because even if Sam believed Dean was too weak to be worthwhile he still loved him.  They were brothers, and no matter what else the world threw at them, John had drilled that into them well enough, trust no one but family.  As fucked up as John had let their lives become, it was no wonder Sam and Dean could rip one another to pieces and still come back to glue each other together.  It was the one thing John taught them better than anything else.  No one could hurt you like family.

**

_“I said no, Sammy,” Dean bit out as Sam glared across the room at him.  Dean couldn’t care less what he thought.  The kids Sam wanted to hang out with were trouble and Dean knew it.  Hell, they were the kind of kids Dean would hang out with.  He knew what sort of trouble they’d get into, and Sam was starting to fight about everything all on his own.  He didn’t need another influence._

_“When did you become Dad?” Sam demanded as he stood up.  He pressed up against Dean’s chest, trying to force Dean to take a step back.  Dean didn’t let him though._

_“Back off,” he gritted out as he pushed Sam back.  His brother hit the wall, but Sam grabbed him, using his momentum to spin them until Dean was the one with his back on the wall._

_“What do you think they’ll make me do, Dean?”  Sam roared.  “You think I’m stupid enough to get drunk with them?  Or do drugs?  Or you afraid they’ll make me do the things you already taught me?  To pick pockets?  How to break and enter?  How to hustle?”  He pushed his chest up against Dean’s again and his eyes were on fire.  “Or maybe it’s something else.  Maybe you’re afraid of what else they’ll make me do.  Is that it, Dean?”_

_Dean’s hands were clenched into white knuckled fists as he forced himself to stay still.  He wanted to shut Sam the hell up, remind him he was his older brother and his protector, but he knew Sam wasn’t as far off the mark as he wanted him to be.  The idea of Sam spending time with those kids when Dean was there just pissed him off.  It’d been two years since he’d first touched his brother but the ache and need had never gone away._

_“Are you jealous?  Afraid they’ll make me take it?  Afraid they’ll fuck me better than you do?”_

_The door slammed and Dean jerked around, putting himself between Sam and danger, Sam’s hands falling to his side as a voice rang out behind them.  “What the hell is going on here?”_

_“Dad?” Dean’s voice was a bare croak.  Dad was supposed to be gone for another week.  He hoped his dad hadn’t heard Sam’s words but the look in his eyes didn’t leave any doubt._

_“What did you do to him?” Their dad demanded as he stepped further into the room._

_Dean could feel Sam’s hands clenched hard into the back of his shirt.  He wasn’t sure if Sam was trying to hide from their father or if he was trying to keep Dean away from their father’s wrath._

_There was nothing else in John’s eyes or his voice but rage.  Dean knew what it meant and he held his head high.  It was his chance to make things right, to find a way to stop what was happening.  “Sammy, go to your room.”_

_“No,” Sam’s fingers curled harder into him, so Dean dropped his hand back, fingers biting into the thick flesh of Sam’s thigh to show he wasn’t messing around._

_Their father’s eyes followed the movement, but Dean didn’t stop until he felt Sam gasp, his palms press against Dean’s back.  “Sammy, now.”_

_“Dean…” Sam whispered, his voice broken in a way Dean knew meant he’d do what Dean told him to.  Sam slipped out from behind Dean and moved to the hallway.  Sam’s eyes stayed on Dean, but he kept his focus on their dad.  He didn’t know why Sam was hell bent on protecting him after what he’d done, but he knew that was why Sam wanted to be there._

_He waited until he heard the door shut to their bedroom.  Their dad was watching Dean, fury settled into his stance, but he wasn’t moving.  Dean could see his mind working behind the anger, and he knew he couldn’t leave it like that.  He had to make sure his dad thought about Sam first this time, instead of the damn hunt and what it would mean to his quest._

_“I raped him,” Dean said without preamble.  He relaxed his hands and squared his shoulders, ready to do what he had to.  “When he was fourteen, I pinned him to his bed and fucked him.  He said no, tried to get away, but I didn’t let him, not until I was done with him.”_

_John took a step closer, but it still wasn’t the reaction Dean needed him to have.  “I never stopped.  Two nights ago I fought with him until I had him pushed down over the kitchen table and didn’t let him up until he was raw and bleeding.  Don’t worry,” Dean gave his father his best smirk, “I made him sit real still while I cleaned him up.”_

_“Son of a bitch,” his dad yelled.  Dean didn’t try to move, just waited as his father’s fist slammed into him.  He didn’t try to block when the second one came, but it knocked him off balance and he fell to the floor.  His father’s heavy boots connected with his ribs, and he only had a few more minutes before he let the pain take him under._

_When he woke he was in his father’s bed.  He was bandaged and cleaned up, and Dean moaned because he was_ still _there, even after his admission._

_“You touch him again,” John said from the doorway, “and I will kill you.”_

_Dean closed his eyes because it wasn’t true.  He’d confessed to the worst crime in the Winchester handbook, hurting and betraying his brother the way he had, but his father had simple given him a beating.  Dean realized then the man in front of him was just another stranger, a hunter, not the father he’d always tried to make him out to be._

_“I wanted to protect him from the monsters,” Dean said softly.   “Not the ones in your books, but the real ones, the men who would hurt him if they could.”_

_He looked up then and saw the confirmation in his father’s eyes; he’d known what happened to Dean all along even if he’d never told him.  It wasn’t surprising. really, since it had been a hunter. and hunters liked to brag after all, but the fact he knew and never said anything just made it all that much worse.  “I never stood a chance though, not when everyone we ever knew were monsters too.”_

_He saw the anger flare in his father’s eyes. but then Sam called to John from the other room.  He heard the hard edge and the pain, the rawness of his brother’s voice as he called their father away.  He figured Sam probably just saved his life.` but he couldn’t find it in himself to fight the resentment._

 

 

 

 

 

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**

Dean wasn’t sure how they both made it out of the bar alive – with all the references to Sam and Jess’s perfect life – but he bit his tongue and pretended to be the supportive boyfriend.  Sam knew he was on thin ice and did his best to keep the others from prodding too much, but in the end Dean called off with an ‘early morning,’ and Sam stayed behind to catch up and see if he could get anything more from his friends than Dean had been able to get from them as a stranger.

Sam made it back to the motel later than usual, but Dean had refused to give him the satisfaction of a fight.  Instead, he’d turned his back to Sam, letting his brother get ready for bed in silence.  He had nothing to say anyway; abuse and neglect?  It wasn’t like he could fight the truth. 

He didn’t know how long he stared at the door, trying to sleep, but he knew he wasn’t the only one pretending sleep.  In the morning Sam was gone when Dean woke.  He showered and tried to rid himself of the growing funk Stanford seemed to hold over him, but Sam was back with breakfast when he got out.  They took their food to the table and began going through what they knew of the hunt again.

“Dean,” Sam said as his fingers sped over the laptop’s keyboard.  “So we have four women electrocuted and one drowning.  I decided to check out the local PD and see if anything sounded similar.”

“You found something?” Dean asked as he scooted his chair over to see what Sam was looking at.  “Son of a bitch.”

“Yeah,” Sam said as he pointed at the screen.  “A woman was found three weeks ago, drowned.  Her eyes had been cut out.  A week before that a woman was found, electrocuted, but with her hands cut off.”

“Least we know why they’re coming back.  Anything else come up with missing body parts?” Dean asked.

Sam typed it into the search and shook his head in a way Dean knew meant he’d found something else.  “Jesus, Dean, a beheading.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.  The police are looking for a serial killer who’s collecting body parts as trophies.”

“Do I need to say it again?” Dean asked.

Sam looked at him and they spoke in unison.  “People are crazy.”

**

The day was long as Sam and Dean went to visit the families of the five women who had been found.  All five were students at Stanford, but they didn’t have any classes together and there didn’t seem to be anything tying them together.  They got the names of the cemeteries they were buried at, though, so it wasn’t a wasted trip. 

Dean would have preferred a day to rest up before a night dig, but there were people dying and they didn’t know when the next one would strike.  They dug up the grave of Allison Hardly first, two deaths could be laid at her feet and she was the most likely to strike again.  They worked fast and for once there was no angry spirit to knock them around as they burned her body.  Dean had a bad feeling about it all, afraid the ghosts weren’t attacking because they were tied to the stolen body part, but they had to give the salt and burn a try. 

When they were done they hauled ass to the second cemetery and found Tonya Bonsman’s grave.  She was in the back corner of the property, which meant they weren’t as likely to be seen from the road, and Dean was grateful for that at least. 

“What the hell?” Dean asked as the second body went up in flames.  “We never get this lucky.”  Two graves in one night and neither had attacked.

“Let’s just get the hell out of here before something can go wrong,” Sam answered as he grabbed up the shovel. 

They made it back to the motel without incident and they were both cleaned up and ready for lights out without any trouble.  When the room was dark, Dean sat there trying to get his head around the hunt.  “Something’s wrong, Sam,” Dean said to the ceiling.

“What?”  He didn’t turn to look, but he heard his brother move in the other bed.

“I don’t know, but this went too easy.  Five deaths.  We have two suspicious murders, and we salted and burned them without any sign of their ghosts.  Every instinct I’ve got says to take you the hell out of here and run.”

He hadn’t meant to say the last bit, but it was true anyway.  They had too much coming after them, too many creatures that thought of Sam as fair game, and Dean was the only thing that stood between him and something really nasty. 

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was quiet, and Dean looked across the beds to see Sam leaning up on one elbow.  “We can’t leave people to die.”

“I know.  Doesn’t change how I feel though.  Whatever is happening here, we didn’t stop it yet.”

Sam didn’t question his words, and Dean marveled at how Sam could continue to have faith in him after everything else, but Sam never questioned his hunting instincts.

“We better get to sleep then.  We’ll probably have a long day ahead of us.”  
  
 

**

 

Sam hung up his phone and stared at it for a few minutes before he looked over at Dean.  He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but with the tension between them as they waited for the next death Dean was sure was coming, it wasn’t so much bearing bad news as confirming it.

“That was Richie,” Sam said to Dean as he walked out of the gas station.  Dean threw the brown bag at him, and Sam was completely thrown off by the weight of it.  He found a bottled water and some snacks for the road, but thrown in there was a mystery novel and a bookmark.

Dean only really did that when he’d been particularly brutal, but nothing had happened between them in days.  There was no need for Dean to assuage his guilt.  Besides, they both knew the next move was Sam’s.

“Saw you looking at it,” Dean interrupted his thoughts.  “What did Richie have to say?”

“You were right, there was another death last night.  The whole campus is talking about it.  Apparently a girl went to plug her laptop in an outlet and she was electrocuted.  And get this; she was at the library.”

“You think that’s the connection?”

“Maybe they both went to the library between classes at the same time?  The killer saw them there?”

“You know what that means, right, Sam?”

“The killer is most likely a student.  Or a teacher.”

“And the police were right.  They’re keeping a trophy which is why the salt and burn didn’t work.”  Dean sighed as he opened the front door of the Impala.  When they were both inside Dean stared at the wheel for a few minutes before talking again.  “How the hell do we track this one, Sammy?”

Sam pressed the heel of his hand into his eye before looking back at his brother.  “Tomorrow night Richie is having people over.  He invited us.  We can go and see if we can pick their brains again.  Until then, hit up the library?”

He didn’t know how Dean would feel about going to Richie’s, but it made sense to use the one person they knew might be able to get them more information.  Richie might not be in school at the moment but he was part of some mentoring group that took him back to campus twice a week. 

“Jesus, you and your libraries,” Dean griped, but Sam could see the small pull at the corner of Dean’s lips. 

It was a waste.  The library didn’t have anything they needed, though Sam grabbed a handful of room schedules on their way out to placate the librarian that they were there for something real after they’d asked their questions.

Back in their motel room, Sam looked at the computer, and to make things even better, there was a new problem.  Dean was pacing around the room, and though Sam hated what he saw, another body meant more clues and maybe finding a workable lead.  “Another strange death, Dean,” he said softly so he wouldn’t startle his brother.

“What have you got?” Dean moved to stand behind Sam, his hands on either side of the chair and his breath trailing over the back of Sam’s neck.

He cleared his throat.  “She was found dead in the basement.”

Dean’s voice was irritated.  “Where and how?”

Sam turned his head slightly to answer and found his mouth a breath away from Dean’s.  Dean’s eyes widened, and it took everything in Sam not to just lean forward and kiss the life out of his brother.  That short look had been all it took, though, to know Dean was damn near panicked over the intimacy of it.  “Get this.  She was beheaded in the library basement.”

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” Dean straightened up and took a few steps back.  “What is it with the library?”

“Everyone uses the main library, Dean.  It would make it really easy for the killer to watch his victims and follow them out.  And with so many people over there, it’s almost untraceable.”

“There has to be a pattern or something. We just need to keep looking.”

Sam sighed.  “We’re doing everything we can.”

“Well dig deeper or something.  There has to be something you’re overlooking in those police reports.”

Sam didn’t try to suppress the offended huff that rose in his throat.  He got out of his chair and stood tall in front of his brother.  “Just me, huh?  What about you?  You dig up anything else in those newspaper reports?  You see anything weird when we were interviewing the victims?”

“Back off, Sammy,” Dean demanded even as Sam stepped closer. 

“Fuck you, Dean.  I didn’t ask for to come back here, and I didn’t ask for your damn attitude the whole goddamn trip.”

“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t me keeping an eye on Stanford news that brought us here.”

Sam pushed and Dean stumbled back a few steps.  There was anger in his eyes, but on the edge of that was the fear Sam knew oh so well.  He wanted to rip it out of Dean, to make him see that Sam would never hurt him, but he was already reaching out, hands closing around Dean’s shoulders as he pushed again, turning Dean at the same time so he landed face first against the wall.

“You always have to push, don’tcha Dean?” Sam asked, as he pushed Dean’s face into the wall with one forearm against his shoulders, while his other hand reached around and unsnapped the button of Dean’s pants.

“Get off me, Sammy,” Dean grunted against the wall, but Sam had him tight.  Hell, Dean wasn’t putting up half the fight he could have.  Over the years they’d honed it to a science, just how much give and take they had in them. 

He had Dean’s zipper down and he worked his jeans down his thighs.  He did the same to his own and pressed against his brother, his cock riding the crease of Dean’s ass like it was made for him. 

“Just do it already,” Dean grunted out as Sam thrust shallowly against his body.

“Fuck, you want it, don’t you, Dean?” he asked.  He couldn’t stop his mouth for some reason, couldn’t keep himself from saying the things he normally held back.  “Want your baby brother to fuck you raw?  Want your baby brother’s cock in you?”

He lined himself up without prepping and was surprised by the slickness to Dean’s hole.  “Jesus, you ready for me?  Fuck yourself open on your fingers for this, big brother?”  Dean moaned and it tore through Sam.  He pressed into Dean’s body as he grabbed his brother’s hands and pushed them high up on the wall, holding his wrists tight. 

“God, Dean, you feel so fucking good.  Love being inside you.”  He pulled his cock out until just the head was inside Dean, feeling the tug of muscles as he pushed and pulled with minute movements.  He pushed in then, and Dean’s forehead pressed against the wall as he canted his hips back for Sam.  “You feel it too, don’t you?” Sam asked as his hips continued to pull out and push back in.  “How good this feels?  How long has it been since anything else felt like this, Dean?  Think it’s because I’m your baby brother?  Or you think it’s because you fucking belong to me?”

“Sammy,” Dean sobbed his name like it was a prayer, and he pressed his forehead against the back of Dean’s neck.

“Always wanted you,” Sam said, the need to confess so damn strong he couldn’t think past it.  He didn’t know why now, after all these years, he had the nerve to say it, but he couldn’t stop now that he’d started.  “Wanted you in me, wanted you with me.  Always hated anyone else touching you.  You’re mine,” He said, thrusting up hard.  “Say it!”

“No,” Dean’s hands were fists as they rested where Sam still held him. 

“Fucking, mine, Dean.  Always have been, just like I was always yours.”

“No,” the denial was broken, and Sam didn’t try to soften his words as he continued to fuck into his brother.

“Yes.  All these years, all those times you claimed me, did you think I wouldn’t know?  I’m tired of it though.  Tired of your games, Dean.  Too tired to let you push me away anymore, of you using me to punish yourself.  Gonna take you when I want now, not when you want it.  Gonna make it so damn good for you,” he said, slowing his hips, pressing his lips to the back of Dean’s shoulder in a soft kiss.  He felt his brother’s shoulders sob underneath him and he continued to kiss his way up to Dean’s neck, just behind his ear.  “Gonna stop punishing you the way you want and I’m gonna make love to you, Dean.”

“Sammy!” Dean screamed his orgasm out against the wall, and Sam barely had the strength to keep his knees under him as his own climax hit out of the blue.

He took a few deep breaths against his brother’s neck before he finally, gently, pulled out of his brother.  He moved away to the bathroom to clean himself up and when he came back Dean was still on the wall where he’d left him.

“Dean?”

It pulled Dean out of his thoughts and his brother was pulling his pants up quickly.  Sam wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t Dean grabbing his jacket and running for the door.  He watched him with a tilt of his head because, after all, he knew his brother.  Running was _exactly_ what he should have expected.   Apparently, confession made Sam a bit stupid when dealing with his brother.

He sat on the edge of the bed and tried to piece together what to do next.  They had a hunt to finish and they had Richie’s party the next night.  And Sam had an AWOL brother who he’d just confessed a lifelong obsession over. 

When the laugh bubbled out of his throat it was surprising.  He could hear the slightly demented note in it, but he couldn’t stop.  Not even when tears streamed down his face, fear gripping him, could he stop the insane need to laugh at the disaster of his own making.

**

 

 

Dean stumbled into the room the next morning smelling of booze and smoke and cheap perfume.  He tried not to wake Sam up, because, Jesus, he’d just spent the night trying to avoid Sam and anything that reminded him of his brother, but Sam was already awake, watching him with the sort of calm that had only come from learning to deal with too much after too hard a life.

“Sammy, need to sleep.”

Sam moved forward, his hands pulling at Dean until he slapped them away.  “What the fuck, Sammy?”

“I was trying to help you get undressed, Dean,” Sam said, like he was an idiot or something for second guessing Sam’s motives. 

“I’m fine, just need to sleep.”

“Okay, yeah,” Sam huffed out.  “Just remember you need to be cleaned up and sober for the party tonight.”

Sam moved towards the door and a flare of panic fired through Dean.  “Where are you going?”

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean ignored it.  “The library.  I want to see if I can get a fresh perspective on this thing.”

Sam didn’t wait for his answer and Dean felt like he’d kicked a puppy.    His brother walked out and Dean didn’t try to stop him.  Sam was in his element at the library, and they didn’t have any better ideas yet.  The last thing Sam needed was Dean there at his side, messing with his head.

He took a deep breath as he steadied himself enough to get rid of his clothes.  After he slid between the sheets he stared up at the ceiling, trying to make the room stop spinning.  It wasn’t any use.  The room has been spinning since the night before, long before he’d had a drink.  He tried not to think about it, but he could still hear Sam’s voice, like it was still just behind his ear. 

_Gonna make love to you, Dean._

He repressed the shiver that wanted to course through his body.  Sam’s words were too tempting, and he couldn’t let himself think about it.  There wasn’t much Dean wouldn’t do for Sam, no matter how hard the last few years had been, but this he couldn’t do.  Sam deserved more than this.  He deserved more than the twisted love Dean felt for him.  He deserved to feel something honest and good, like what he’d had with Jessica.  The thing between them was something Dean had caused.  Sam would never have developed feelings for Dean if he hadn’t touched him.

He couldn’t help but hear Sam’s voice though – _you fucking belong to me_ , _always wanted you_ –in the back of his mind, trying to make a liar out of him.

“Damn it, Sammy, you can’t do this to me,” Dean mumbled to the room.  “You’re the only thing I got left.  You can’t mess with me now.”

He closed his eyes and imagined Sam’s hands trailing over his body in ways they’d never allowed.  He remembered the feel of Sam’s lips against his shoulder and imagined them moving around his body, Sam pressing their lips together like he promised.

He let his hand drop down, wrapped his fingers around his hardened cock.  It didn’t take long, not with the image of Sam in his mind.  He came hard, with Sam’s name on his lips, and fell asleep, remembering the way his brother had felt a few days before in his arms.

**

 The party was everything Sam thought it would be, and Jesus, did he feel out of place.  When he’d first arrived at Stanford it had taken him a long time to stop playing the part of a normal college student and learned how to just be one.  Going back to that life now was completely foreign.  Knowing what kind of difference he and Dean could make in the world meant something to him.  It wasn’t just something he had to do to keep John happy, but an understanding of his place in the world.  Where John’s quest had alienated Sam from hunting, Dean’s need to help people made Sam realize it wasn’t the hunt that had destroyed their lives, but rather John’s obsession with it. 

Standing in a room full of professionals, some of whom Sam knew from his days at Stanford, made him realize just how far he’d gone from his early ideas of what normal meant, of what being a strong, moral person was.  If there had ever been any doubt in his mind, being here with the people who made up the ‘normal’ of his Stanford days made him realize he never wanted to go back. 

He did want something more stable, something permanent – maybe like Bobby managed, or Pastor Jim, a place to call his own, maybe a part time job to keep them going without the credit card fraud and hustling – but he still wanted to hunt.  Hell, he needed it.  He needed to be better than the blood flowing through his veins, and hunting proved he was more than the beast the demons seemed to want to make him into.

He heard the laughter and turned slightly away from his own conversation to watch his brother laughing at something one of the women said to him.  It was Dean’s real smile, and he ached seeing it directed at someone else. 

He downed his drink and grabbed another, forgetting that he’d been in the middle of a conversation.

**

Dean smiled at Glenda and ignored the way her fingers trailed up his arm as she leaned in.  She was funny and smart and sexy as hell, but the predatory glint that had just come into her eyes wasn’t something Dean wanted to be a part of.  He’d seen it before, women who wanted to tame him, to take him and use him as a pet project or something.  He’d let them try when he was younger, if he was staying in town long enough, but he’d always walked away, taking what he could learn from them and walking back to the hunt. 

She was an anthropology professor at the university and seemed to think a lot of herself as they talked, but Dean was there to get information and she seemed to be a font of knowledge about the student culture.

The guy standing beside her was obviously under some delusion that she was interested in him, the way he was staring at her hand on Dean’s arm, but Dean just smiled at Alan, trying to ignore her.  “And they have no clue who broke into the museum?”  Dean asked.

“None,” Alan said with a shake of his head.  “It’s tragic.”

“Was anything valuable taken?”

“Yes.  There was a valuable book in the latest collection at the museum.  The anthropology department was working in conjunction with the museum and the sociology department on a collection of modern myths and their origins.  We had a spell book that was invaluable to the collection and rather expensive as well.  There are only three known copies of it in the world and the other two were bought into private collections and disappeared.”

It only took a little more prodding to get the name of the book, and Dean thought he’d mention it to Bobby just in case.  If he knew the book, it might be worth looking into.  Once they figured out what was happening with the damn ghosts.

The whole hunt was going to hell, and Dean didn’t know what to do.  Another body had been found the night before, another drowning where they shouldn’t have been able to drown.  They had three different MOs and nothing felt right.  The thing with Sam was so far out of control he had no idea what to do, except clamp down on his usual urge to keep Sam close.  In fact, it was why he was all the way across the room from his brother, making sure he couldn’t just touch.  Richie had made a point of introducing him to the entire party as Sam’s boyfriend, and the last thing Dean needed was an excuse to touch his brother. 

He looked up to find Sam and was surprised to see his brother coming straight for him.  “Can I have a minute?” Sam asked the other two people Dean was talking to, before he grabbed Dean’s elbow and pulled him aside. 

“This place is a bust.  I’m not getting any useful information out of them.  Let’s get out of here,” Sam snapped.

Dean wasn’t sure how to take Sam’s attitude.  He’d noticed the look in his brother’s eyes as the night progressed, steadily getting more and more angry.  He didn’t know what caused it; he was just surprised Sam’s so-called friends couldn’t see it.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Dean asked, though he made sure to keep his smile in place and use a soft voice so no one would think anything of it.

“It’s time to get out of here.”

The hunt was getting to Sam too.  He wasn’t sure what it was that bothered Sam the most, ghosts doing things that made no sense, or being back with his old friends. “Yeah, okay.”

They left the party, and he could see the tension in Sam’s body disappearing.  “You alright, Sammy?” he asked as the doors of the Impala closed. 

“Just need some sleep, Dean.”

Dean looked at him for a minute, but when Sam just turned to look out the window, he started the car and took them back to their motel.

**

Sam pulled out his phone and dialed Dean as he started walking out of the motel.  Dean had taken the Impala first thing in the morning, as Sam was waking up, but campus wasn’t far, and Sam actually enjoyed the walk.  The air cleared his head, and when Dean picked up the phone Sam wasn’t feeling as jumpy.

“Hey, just got off the phone with Bobby,” Sam said without preamble.  “Turns out the book that was stolen was a real spell book.  Remember how he said there were only three copies of it?”

“Yeah?”

“The other two were Bobby and John’s.”

“What the hell?”

“Yeah.  Apparently it’s not only real, but it’s got some dark magic to it.  Bobby said it’s been in hiding for years, and he just found out about it being part of the exhibit. He was going to get someone to nab it for him before some idiot did something stupid.”

“Like steal it?”

“Like use it.  Where are you now?”

“The library.  I brought the EMF back.  It’s not coming up with much, but there is a faint trail leading down to the basement.  I’m heading down there now.”

“I’m on my way.  If you find something, wait for me.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam could hear the squeal of the EMF meter over the phone, followed by Dean’s soft curse.  “Dean?”

“Hurry up, Sammy.”

“Dean, what happened?”

“Followed the trail right up to a wall in the basement where they keep the old public records.  The EMF meter was picking up something in the books so I grabbed it and the whole damn shelf came away from the wall.  There’s a passage back there.”

“Dean, wait for me.”

“Hurry your ass up then, Princess.”

Dean hung up, but Sam was already running towards campus.

**

Sam found Dean easily enough.  The basement was completely deserted, as it always was.  No one wanted to visit the musty shelves down there, and almost all of it was listed in internet databases so it was an unused portion of the library.

Dean nodded as he saw Sam, then pulled the book away from the wall.  The section moved easily with no noise, which meant it was used often.  Dean had a flashlight in his hands already and took the lead as Sam pulled his gun out of the backpack he wore.  He hid the pack in the room in case anyone else came down there and then followed Dean down the tunnel. 

They walked close to a mile, always steadily down, before the tunnel stopped at the entrance of a large room.  In the center was a clean medical gurney and to its side was a stand of medical instruments, still in their plastic wrapping to show they were sterile.

“What the hell is this?” Dean asked quietly.

They stepped into the room, lit by minimal lights around the railing.  The roof was about fifteen feet high.   At about nine feet the walls gave way to glass and though they couldn’t see anything up there, Sam knew it was an old surgery observation room. 

“Jesus, Dean.  How is this a secret?”

“Let’s check it out.”

They moved to the other door in the room and found a set of stairs that led up to the observation area.  Dean had the flashlight in his pocket and was leading with his gun instead. 

The observation area was completely empty but when Dean pulled out the EMF it went crazy until he finally shut it off.

“Dean, do you remember the schedule I took from the library?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t think anything about it at the time, but the study room closest to the basement stairs is occupied by a group of med school students.”

“You think they’re doing something here that’s causing the ghosts to go haywire?”

Sam took a deep breath.  “I don’t know Dean, but it’s got to mean something, right?”

“Great, a group of students with a God complex playing with ghosts.  Just what we needed to make this hunt even better.”

“God complexes?”

“Yeah, you know they say doctors have God complexes because they bring people back to life.  Thought you were the smart one, Sammy,” Dean said, though there was no rancor in his voice.  He was too busy moving around the observation area to see if they’d missed anything.

“Dean, the stolen grimoire.  It had a spell that could bring the dead back to life.”

Dean turned to look at him, anger filling his eyes as he shook his head.  “Son of a bitch.  What are they playing at?”

“No idea.  We should check out the schedule again and see when they’ll be here next.  We can keep an eye on them and see where they lead us.”

**

They looked like all the other college brats Dean could remember watching when he’d snuck over to Stanford to check up on Sam all those years ago – nice clothes, and chocked so full of knowledge and pretention it made Dean want to choke.  There were twelve of them in the study room.  It was abnormal for a room to be signed out so often, Dean had found out from the librarian, but there were exceptions made for certain groups, and the medical students had odd hours, so when one of the seniors had come and asked to have that specific room kept available to them whenever the library was open, they’d agreed. Their other rooms could take the overflow. 

“Besides,” the librarian’s assistant had mentioned as she slipped her phone number to him on a slip of paper, “Jared Marks is one of the students.  His father is Alan Marks, the head of the Anthropology department.”

Dean nodded, recognizing Jared as soon as he was made aware of the connection.  Alan was the one who’d mention the museum and the stolen book, so it made sense his son would be aware of it too.  They still didn’t have proof that they were up to anything, but it was just one more nail in the coffin, and every instinct in Dean told him they were on the right track.  He still had no idea how they had a ghost with multiple MOs but this was the right path to follow, he knew it. 

He picked up his phone and called Sam, talking from a table at the back where he could keep an eye on the glass study room and the path to the basement. 

“Dean?”

“So one of the medical students happens to be the son of the head of Anthropology.  He had to have known about the book, Sam.”

“Yeah.  And Eric Dorme, the kid who used his name to get the study room?  I did a search on him.  He was engaged to be married until his fiancé, another medical student, died.  That was two weeks before the book disappeared and a month before the first murder.”

“Jesus.”

“And I took a look at the police report on the museum heist.  It had to be an inside job.  They only took the book, and while they were smart enough to keep from leaving fingerprints anywhere, they didn’t even try to disable to alarm.  However, they got inside with no signs of forced entry.  Not even scratching on the locks to show a pick lock was used.”

“So amateur, but someone who had a key to get in.”

“Exactly.  This has to be them.”

“Yeah, I agree.  Hey, it looks like they’re leaving.  I’m gonna follow.”

“Dean.”

“I’ll be careful, Sammy,” he promised.

“Yeah.  I’m on my way.  Even if they aren’t heading down there, I’ve done everything I can here.  Makes more sense to be there in case something happens.”

Dean didn’t argue with his brother.  Instead, he just hung up and began throwing things into the backpack he’d brought with him.  He hated the damn thing, but Sam was right.  On campus it made him look less conspicuous and it let him walk around fully armed without raising eyebrows.

He watched the others as they stood, but to his disappointment they headed out of the library.  Sam was at the door when Dean walked out.  He must have been on campus already when Dean had called. 

“Hey, Sammy,” he acknowledged him, as the students began breaking out of their group.  Four students went off together though, Jared Marks with them.  “I think we should stay on him.”

Sam nodded, and then they were heading into the student union.  The others grabbed food, and Dean found them the perfect spot to watch as Sam went off to get them something to eat too.  Good thing, because Dean was starving.  He hated the waiting game on cases and doing this sort of cat and mouse game always set him off.  Doing it in a library where he couldn’t take something in to eat was driving him nuts.

Sam came back with a tray full of burgers and fries though, two large sodas, and a couple bottled waters – the only drink allowed in the library – for later.  “Thanks,” Dean said, digging into his food.  He kept his focus on that.  It was the first time he’d really sat with Sam since the other night, and he didn’t have the ability to think about Sam’s confession just yet.  He focused on the food, focused on the hunt, and said a small thanks to a god he didn’t think listened, that Sam seemed to be doing the same thing.

**

The library was about to close, and Sam was having a hard time keeping a lid on his frustration.  Another day gone and they still didn’t have anything to show for it.  Whatever the students were doing, they had it locked down tight. 

Dean was going over their notes again, trying to find anything they’d missed, and Sam was in the computer system again, rechecking.  They were both sure it was the students, but they hadn’t made a move to the basement since they’d been following them. 

And then Jason was leaving the study room, his bags and books still in there with the rest of his friends.  It was just the four of them who had gone to lunch together, and Sam elbowed Dean as he watched Jason walk up to a girl who was studying at one of the open tables.  They talked for a few minutes, and Sam noted the way his friends kept an eye on them as well. 

They were both ready when the med students started packing up again and Sam let out a deep breath as they headed to the back of the room where the stairs to the basement were located.  Dean brushed their shoulders together in a show of agreement as they waited a few minutes before heading that way themselves. 

There were no sounds as they headed down to the basement, and the door they knew was hidden had already shut behind the students. 

Dean dropped his bag, opening it to pull out his gun, and Sam did the same.  He had no idea what was going on in his brother’s head these days, had been cut off even more than normal since he’d made his confession to Dean, but at least on the hunt they were in sync again. 

Sam took a deep breath, reaching out to grab Dean’s wrist before his brother could pull out the book that would swing the door open.  Dean looked up sharply, and Sam took a deep breath.  “Be careful, Dean.  I don’t think I can–” he stopped, unable to say what he was thinking:  _I can’t do this without you._ “I can’t handle another hospital right now.”

Dean nodded, holding eye contact longer than he had since the other night.  Sam let him go, then looked back at the door.  They both had their packs in hand, not wanting to leave anything behind for the library security to find as they swept the building for stragglers. 

Dean pulled open the door and then they were stepping through.  Sam hated that Dean always went first, but in this case it made a little more sense.  Sam had a better chance at shooting around his brother in the confines of the hallway than Dean did.  It didn’t make Sam any less determined to get his brother through the night without major injury. 

Sam shifted his grip on the gun as they realized the hallway was empty.  He reached back and pulled the door behind them closed.  He’d prefer to be using his favorite gun but this wasn’t their typical game, and Bobby had given him very specific instructions on what to do if they came across anything from the book that had been stolen.  A lot of spell work, some carving into the specially blessed bullets – and hadn’t Sam had a bitch of a time finding someone to do that in the short time he’d had to do it – and guns cleansed and blessed with holy water.

The hallway was dark, but light came from the bottom and they both allowed their eyes to adjust to it before heading down the ramp.  About halfway down they stopped and quietly dropped their bags.  They went on silently, both guns up and at the ready for whatever they found at the bottom of the ramp.

They stopped before they got to the bottom, hearing voices on the other side.

“This should be it, right?”

“Jesus, Jason, this was your idea in the first place.”

“I know.  I… you weren’t the only one who loved her, alright Eric?  She got me into med school.  You know how she helped Adam clean himself up before anyone noticed the drug use.  I want this as much as you do, but I didn’t know it would take so many.”

“I know,” the voice, Eric, sounded more sympathetic then.  “I didn’t either.  I just, we’re committed to this already.  If we can’t do this then we’ve done all of it for nothing.  Maybe I’m a killer, but if we stop, then we killed them for no reason.  I can’t do that anymore than I could leave her in the ground.”

Sam wanted to wait it out a few more minutes, but Dean was already moving to the end of the hallway.

“Interesting conversation you boys have going on here,” Dean said as he stepped out into the room. 

Four sets of eyes turned to them, and Sam let Dean take in the students as he reassessed the room.  In the center there was a table covered with white cloth, a body resting underneath.  It wasn’t a sheet like they’d seen in morgues but something heavier, something to keep warm with.  There was writing on it though, and Sam ached to see what it was, but the writing was too small for him to make out the characters, let alone the language.

He looked over at the men then.  Two were standing in the center of the room, Eric and Jason.  He didn’t know the other two, though all four looked to be fit, if not in fighting condition.   The two strangers were standing by the stairway and seemed to be inching closer.  Sam brought his gun up to them.  “Don’t think about it.”

They both stopped, and he kept his eye on them as he moved around the room to cover them better. 

“So, this is where you start talking,” Dean said in a deceptively charming voice. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eric said.

“How about you start with the people you killed,” Dean said, “or how you’re trying to bring your fiancé back from the dead?”

“You’re crazy.  We’re med students, not loser wizard wannabes who don’t know reality from fiction.”

Dean just smirked.  “We know Jason told you about the book at the museum and you used his father’s key to get into it.  We know your girlfriend died, and you decided to use the spells to reanimate her.  What happened?  Spell gone wrong?  Or she just didn’t want to talk to your pathetic ass?”

“Shut the hell up!” Eric screamed at Dean. 

Dean inched closer to them, and Sam took a deep breath, knowing they had to do something even if he didn’t like the way Dean handled this part of a hunt.  A groan filled the room then, and before Sam knew it, the two men he’d been watching ran to the stairway.  “Dean!” he yelled as he made a break after them.  He knew Dean couldn’t follow – and he hated leaving his brother down there alone – but Dean knew where he was headed.  Sam couldn’t leave them on the upper level of the observation deck where they’d have an advantage over Dean.  He didn’t think they had weapons, but he couldn’t leave it to chance. 

He ran up the stairs and barely missed something flying by his head as he ducked at the last minute.  Before he could respond the gun was knocked out of his hand and a fist came flying at him.  He managed to dodge it and kicked out, forcing his attacker backwards, but as he did so, he was kicked in the knee hard enough to send him down.  He managed to stay on his knees, but then the first attacker landed a blow to his jaw and pain blossomed outwards. 

He couldn’t stay down.  No matter that his attackers weren’t fighters, they had the upper hand as long as he wasn’t on his feet.  The attacker behind him didn’t seem to know how to fight from behind, but the first one came at Sam again.  This time Sam was able to block the punch.  Using the momentum of the other man, he spun him and pushed him hard enough to send him stumbling.  It gave Sam enough time to get to his feet.  He turned around, ignoring the guy he’d downed because his gun was somewhere on the other side.  The man in front of him looked shell shocked by it all, eyes wide and breath shallow as he took a few steps back.  Sam didn’t have to finesse it, he just rushed in with an uppercut and the guy was out cold.  Sam didn’t know if it was his punch or the fear that did it, but Sam just watched him go as he made a grab for his gun.  

The other guy came slamming into him, and Sam and the gun both went skidding across the floor.  He managed to get ahold of his attacker’s leg and sent him falling to the floor, and Sam took the moment of stunned stillness to grab for the gun again.  He had it in hand and turned, slamming the butt of the gun into the guy’s head.  He went down into a heap just as Sam heard the first gun blast.

“Sam!”

Sam was running back down the stairs, forgetting to look at what was happening as his brother screamed his name.  He came to a screeching halt at the bottom of the stairs, finding Dean and Eric in the center of the room.  A hand grabbed him by the shirt and he was suddenly thrown across the room, landing with a thud close to his brother.  His head hit the ground hard, and he could feel blood trickling from his temple, but aside from the momentary dizziness he was fine. 

“Sammy!”

He shrugged and got up, his gun – the one with the special bullets – on the floor behind Dean.

Dean pulled the trigger again, and the creature across the room smiled.  She’d been beautiful once, he could see that, but there was nothing left now but a creature, a hollow picture of the woman who might have been.  Delicate stitching lined the base of her neck and Sam could see the same around her wrists.  He didn’t doubt that her eyes had been removed as well.  They’d been killing to replace parts of Eric’s fiancé.  He didn’t know why, but he could see it.  Sam watched as Dean pulled out his secondary gun and kicked it across to Sam, but Eric was moving between them, trying to put himself between any bullets and the creature.  “Don’t, please, you don’t understand!”

“She isn’t your fiancé,” Sam said, trying to get the other man’s attention as Dean took a step back towards Sam’s gun.  “Whatever you were trying to do, you know it isn’t here.”

Eric shuddered at his words but shook his head.  “No, you … I just have to get it right.  The eyes weren’t working and the hands.  The neurological connections are the hardest.  We just need a little more time, and I can put her soul back together right.”

“No, you can’t.  And while you’re trying to do it, the women you killed, they’re haunting the campus.  Do you know how many women have died for you to save this one?”

“I don’t care!” Eric screamed at Sam. 

Dean had the gun then, and Eric turned to him, eyes pleading.  “Do you have any idea what it feels like to love someone so completely?  To love them so much they make you crazy?  You’d die for them?”  He stood up straighter, and Sam realized Eric knew exactly what had been happening on campus.  “We had to tie the souls to the body parts or the reanimation wouldn’t work.  I don’t care though.  I love her so much, I would kill for her.  Can you even fathom that kind of love?”

Dean lowered the gun for a second, but Sam was unable to understand the look in his eyes. 

“Yeah, I can,” Dean’s voice was gruff with emotion.  “And your bitch just threw him across the room.” He pulled the gun up then and fired one shot to the head and one to the heart in quick succession. 

Eric was running towards him, regardless of being too late to stop Dean, but his brother was focused on the creature, not the man.  Sam was too far away to get to him any other way, so he pulled the trigger, and hit Eric through the shoulder.  Dean was moving to the creature, and Sam walked over to Eric.  The other man’s eyes were overflowing with tears, but as he looked up, Sam couldn’t find it in himself to feel pity.  He kicked him hard enough to send him onto his back, putting him out for the count.

 

**

It wasn’t easy to get the body out of the library without detection, even though it was already closed – they had to lug it up all the stairs while getting around the security cameras.  In the end though, they left the four men tied up in the basement by the open door, and they managed to get the creature – Sam couldn’t think of it as a ‘her’ without the creeping doubt of what he would have done when Jessica had died if he had known about the book – out of there.  In Sam’s backpack they had the book that had caused all the trouble to begin with. 

They found a good place close to campus to burn the body.  Only one of the ghosts had been strong enough to follow them there, and Sam had kept the shotgun going as she showed herself.   

As soon as it was over – a rather anticlimactic ending, Sam thought, for the number of deaths that had come about – Dean had him pressed up against the hood of the Impala, redressing the bandage above his eye where the cut had opened up again.  Sam sighed, but allowed Dean his fussiness, as he was still too busy reeling over his brother’s confession to Eric.  It wasn’t like Sam didn’t know his brother loved him, but it felt like something else, hearing Dean admit to the depths of his feelings for Sam. 

When Dean turned him and pushed him into the passenger seat, Sam went without comment.  He needed to think, and he needed to figure this out, because he’d opened himself up to his brother and he had no idea if Dean would ever – could ever –  feel the same about him.

It was a quiet ride, the both of them caught up in their own thoughts.

**

The door of the bathroom opened, and Dean watched as Sam stepped out, a cloud of steam surrounding him.  He didn’t blame him.  It was a nasty hunt, and he was more than happy to have it over with.  There were times when he hated the job, and this was one of them.  He understood how it hurt to love someone so much you couldn’t live without them.  He’d been to Hell for it, in fact.  He’d started the goddamned apocalypse to keep Sam topside.  Hunts like this always took him back to that moment, with Sam dying in his arms and so many things unspoken between them. 

He understood the need to bring someone back to life, and as he sat there, Dean realized his hands were clenched into fists to keep from reaching out to touch Sam, to feel his heart beating under his palm.  Instead, he turned away from where his brother was rummaging through his bag, looking for a clean tee shirt. 

It wasn’t the easiest thing to turn away from, Sam naked all except for his boxers, water dripping from his hair down his spine.  He managed it though and wondered what was next.  The hunt was done, but they were still at Stanford, and he had no idea what Sam would want to do. 

“What’s the plan, Sammy?” he asked, barely managing to keep his voice steady. 

Sam sat at the edge of his bed, pulling his shirt over his head.  When Sam looked at him, Dean could see just how much the hunt had taken out of him.

“Sleep.  I’m gonna sleep in, and then we’re going to the best steak place I know.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked.  He didn’t like the idea of hanging around Stanford another day, but he figured Sam needed to say goodbye to his friends, and he could deal with that.  Just so long as Sam did say goodbye to them.

“Yeah, we passed it on the way in.  Might not be able to get there by dinnertime tomorrow, but I think we can make it.  It’s this place on the border of California and Nevada.  When I was coming out here the bus broke down, and we ended up there for a few hours,” Sam said with a smile.  “Soon as I got my plate I knew I had to get you there sometime.”

Dean didn’t know how to take that, so he just nodded.  “Sounds like a date,” he said as he rolled over and turned the light off between the beds.  “’Nite, Sam.”

He heard Sam getting under the covers in the bed beside him, could see it in his mind’s eye even in the dark, and let out a relieved breath that Sam was ready to move on.

“’Nite, Dean.”

**

Sam lied about one part.  He didn’t let Dean sleep in.  Sam woke him at eight, though he had the sense to do it with coffee that was almost heaven from the shop down the block.  They got up and headed out then, each leaving the other to their silence as they drove away from Stanford.

It wasn’t like he felt something was broken between them, but Dean was afraid to disturb the bruised peace.  The war still raged around them, and they still hadn’t dealt with Ruby and whatever Sam was doing behind Dean’s back.  He felt raw from the memories of Sam’s death, and he could tell from the way Sam looked at him from time to time his brother was all too aware of the same thing, Dean’s death at the jaws of hell hounds.

They pulled off the road midday at a rest stop and stretched their legs.  Sam crowded behind him in the restroom, but he didn’t push Dean into the sink or try to put his hands on him.  Sam just waited his turn to wash his hands, and Dean bit back the disappointment. 

That night, they pulled into Paul’s Grill, a modest though clean looking place.  There were pool tables at the back and booths lined the walls.  Modern and upbeat, the place was a mix between hippie and true hole in the wall.  Sam smiled as they went in, and Dean couldn’t help but share his enthusiasm.  They might not always have the same taste in things, but Sam sure as hell knew a good steak.

Dinner didn’t disappoint.  The steaks were cooked to perfection and Dean even finished off the creamed spinach and massive potato that came with it.  A few beers and he was relaxed as he listened to Sam talk about the bus ride that had taken him to Stanford, an ease to his words that had never been there before when talking about school.  Dean knew it was because he, himself, was more open to Sam’s words.  Sam had made a choice, and Dean knew his brother was with him no matter what else happened.

It made him think things he shouldn’t, but after years of living with this thing between them, he found it hard to pull away anymore.  Not after the night Sam had cracked him open, making him think maybe Sam could be in this just as much as he was.

When they got back to the motel Dean hit the shower and came out to find Sam sitting in just his boxers at the end of his bed, staring down at his hands.  He wasn’t sure what it was about that – maybe because Sam looked so dejected after they’d just had a really relaxed evening together – but he found himself moving over to him.

He sat on the bed beside Sam and let his fingers curl over his brother’s cheek, pulling his face towards him.  Sam’s eyes were wide with shock, and Dean didn’t think his were any different, and then he was pressing his lips to Sam’s.  In all the years they’d been taking one another apart, they’d never had _this_ , and Dean couldn’t stop the moan that came from his first taste of his brother’s lips.  Sam’s breath caught in a sob, and then he was opening under Dean.  Dean leaned him back as he licked his way into his mouth, exploring the taste and textures Sam had to give him.  Sam’s hands clenched in Dean’s shirt, and he pulled Dean down on top of him, forcing him as close as he could be.

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean breathed out against his brother’s lips.

Sam’s mouth tilted up in a small smile.  “Always thought you were lying about what a good kisser you were,” Sam said with a shuddered breath.  “Thought you wouldn’t kiss me so I couldn’t call you on it.”

Dean closed his eyes, resting his head against Sam’s forehead.  “You make me fucking crazy,” Dean whispered.  “I don’t– is this alright, Sammy?”

Sam pulled his lips back down for another kiss, and then he was pulling Dean’s shirt off.  His hands were warm and strong and almost worshipful.  Dean didn’t deserve the kind of awe he saw in his brother’s eyes when he looked at him, so he kissed him again to hide from it. 

Sam stripped them both down to nothing, his hands so damn gentle it made Dean feel like he was about to shatter.  “What are you doing to me?” he asked as Sam kissed his way across Dean’s neck and up to the spot behind his ear he loved so well.  Not that Sam knew that, but damn if he wasn’t instinctively hitting every button of Dean’s anyway.

He let Sam roll him onto his back and watched in amazement as Sam saddled his hips, Dean’s erection pressing against the crease of Sam’s ass.  Sam leaned in to claim his lips again before he leaned up slightly and looked Dean in the eye.

“My whole life I wanted you, Dean,” he started out, his voice deep with quiet intensity.  “Even before that first time, I dreamed of you.  I wasn’t like you.  I wanted sex to mean something, and I was never around anyone long enough to trust them like that.  Except you, and you’re so fucking beautiful, and you were always there to take care of me.  That first time, I wanted it, but I wanted you sober, and I didn’t know how to explain it.  I didn’t know how to stop being angry that you didn’t want me, just wanted to try to protect me again.  And I was angry because someone hurt you, and I’ve never been good at handling that.”

He dropped his forehead to Dean’s and took a shaky breath.  “I need you, Dean.  I know things have been rocky, but I can’t live like this.  I need you, but I need you this way, not the other.”

When he looked at Dean there were unshed tears in his eyes.  “Can you love me like this?”

Dean took a deep breath, knowing what Sam was asking of him.  He didn’t know if he would ever be able to leave the guilt and self-anger behind, but there wasn’t much of anything he wouldn’t do for his brother.  And damn if he didn’t want to.  “Love you any way you say it, Sammy.”

“Yeah?“

“How many ways do you want me to say it?”

“Do you love me, Dean?” Sam asked.  There was a smirk on his lips, but Dean could hear the uncertainty in his brother’s voice. 

“Yes.”

“How do you love me?”

Dean’s lips turned up into a smile, his eyes lighting up with it in ways Sam had never seen directed at him when they were intimate.   “Completely.”

“How do you love me?” Sam asked again.

“Insanely.”

Sam brought their foreheads together and breathed in deep.  When he pressed his lips to Dean’s they were demanding and hard.  He nipped at Dean’s bottom lip and tugged it lightly before letting go.  “How do you love me?”

There was nothing that could erase who they were, and he knew there would be hard times ahead.  Sam was looking at him like he was the answer to everything he’d ever needed to know, and Dean knew, without a doubt, that this love they shared would always be wild and untamed.   Violence had been the only measure they had for love for so long, it was terrifying to think of being with his brother without it.  He could see from the light in Sam’s eyes, though, his brother was really with him. 

Dean’s smile turned wicked as he leaned up, biting softly at Sam’s neck.  He started to pull back, but Dean’s hands were there, holding him still while he marked his brother up.

“How do you love me, Dean?” Sam asked one more time.

“Violently.”

Dean’s hands gripped Sam tight, his eyes fierce with his need to possess, his words clear with the shared history of violence between them, but the kiss that followed…it was anything but.

 

 

 

 

 

  
[](http://s1180.photobucket.com/user/hunters_retreat/media/Art%20Made%20for%20hunters_retreat/Violently/0006g4t1.png.html)     

 

 

 


	2. The End (A Timestamp)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you standing around for Sammy?” Dean demanded, watching the way Sam flinched at the nickname. He didn’t used to, not before. But that was before Dean had started taking this from Sam, when he used to call him Sammy in affection, not lust.
> 
> This is a Timestamp that takes place years before Violently.

  
  
_You don't want to hurt me,  
But see how deep the bullet lies.  
Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder.  
There is thunder in our hearts, baby.  
So much hate for the ones we love?  
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?_   
_-Placebo_

  
  
His heart was beating faster in his head as he counted out the beat under his hand.  There was blood everywhere and he didn’t know how much was from this or the hunt anymore.  Too much, he thinks.  How much did he do?  How badly did he hurt him?  He doesn’t know and he doesn’t think there’s any way to ask.  Not anymore.    
  
Sam pushed his hand away, pushed Dean back and he slid out of Sam’s body.  He heard his brother’s sharp intake of breath at the pain of it and Dean walked to the sink as he pulled his pants up from where they had been pulled tight down his thighs.  He ran the water, watching blood circle the drain before he cupped his hands to rinse his face.  It had to be good enough to get them into a motel and then they could really get cleaned up.  He wet a wad of paper towels and cleaned off his cock before throwing it away and closed the front of his pants.  
  
When he looked back, Sam was still glaring at him.  His eyes fueled the slow building heat in Dean and for a moment he thought about running his tongue over his brother’s lip, biting it hard enough to make it bleed again.  Sam pushed away from the wall, letting Dean see the blood smeared where Dean had pushed his face against the tile when he’d come in.    
  
“Done yet?”  The words were quiet, but intense, his whole frame vibrating with the violence of what Dean had just done, of what he wanted to do in return.  Dean took a deep breath, eyes tracing Sam’s body, seeing the blood on his forearm from where he’d been thrown across the room and landed on a picture frame.  He saw the blood rising on his face that would be black and blue come morning, saw the split lip and cut over his temple.  He was pretty sure the bruises were his, but the rest was thanks to a poltergeist.  
  
“What are you standing around for Sammy?”  Dean demanded, watching the way Sam flinched at the nickname.  He didn’t used to, not before.  But that was before Dean had started taking this from Sam, when he used to call him Sammy in affection, not lust.  
  
Sam glared, but he walked to the sink, keeping his eyes on his brother.  He let the cool water run over bruised fingertips and Dean smiled as he saw the moment of indecision, the moment where Sam asked himself if he should lower his face enough to wash it and risk bending in front of Dean, or wear the blood until they got to the motel.  Just a flicker of his eyes and he was bending, not much, but enough for Dean to see the way his brother was bleeding slightly from where Dean had torn into him.    
  
Dean found himself moving forward, one hand stopping at Sam’s waist and his brother stiffened.  He looked up, not in fear, but anger.  Dean wadded up a few more paper towels and wet them, then started to clean his brother up.  He leaned in and bit at Sam’s neck, watched his brother’s hands go white knuckled on the blood-stained porcelain.  “Gonna take care of you Sammy.”  He promised.  “You know I always do, always protect you so good, don’t I little brother?”  
  
Sam didn’t protest, just the look in his eyes as Dean continued to stroke his opening, wiping blood and come as if he hadn’t just forced his way into his body ten minutes before.  When he threw the paper towel out, he stepped back and watched as Sam pulled his pants up.    
  
They were as presentable as they were going to get.  “Need anything?”  Dean asked as he unlocked the door to the gas station bathroom.  
  
“Coke.”  Sam answered back, his voice low and tight, anger barely restrained and damn if it didn’t make Dean want to lock the door again.  “And cheetos.”  
  
Dean nodded before heading out to grab them.  It was a nicer gas station than most and they even had a few books on one side of the register next to the magazines.  He saw something that looked up Sam’s alley and saw something right above it so he snagged it too.  He made his way back out to the car and Sam was waiting in the passenger seat, looking angry and uncomfortable.    
  
He set the bag between them and pulled out of the station, leaving behind the blood and memories and foul mood that had been stalking him for a week.  Sam pulled out a soda and handed it to Dean, along with a candy bar.  “What’s this?”  He asked, pulling out the book.  
  
“Thought you might need something to read.  The next hunt Dad had lined up is a two day drive.”  
  
Sam nodded, then pulled out the rest.  “And this?”  
  
“Book light.”  Dean said, without looking over at his brother.  He’s spent years learning to juggle reading and homework in the back seat with a flash light in his mouth.  “Thought you might like it.”  
  
Sam looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face.  “I can take it back if you don’t want it.”  
  
“No, no.  I want it.”  Sam said, ripping the box open and putting the batteries in so he could use it.  He flipped it on and Dean could see the slight smile pulling at his lips.  “Thanks Dean.  This is great.”  
  
Sam played with it for a little bit, making Dean squirm as they drove though.  It gave him just enough light to see his brother’s profile and from time to time he’d catch Sam staring at him.  He knew what it meant, knew that his brother was plotting.  It wouldn’t happen yet, but in a few days, a few weeks, he’d find himself trapped, his brother pressing his way in as Dean fought to get free.  Heat filled Sam’s eyes and dread filled Dean’s.    
  
When Sam opened the book though, book light clamped in place, Dean smiled.  Just like that, back to brother’s again.  He felt good about it, felt happy that he’d been able to find something Sam liked, even if it was a stupid light for his books.  They were messed up seven ways from Sunday, they both knew it, but sex and blood and tears be damned.  They’d figure it out in the end. They knew what mattered and above all us, they were brothers.  And they would be til the end.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for thespn_teamfic challenge based on the Placebo song Running Up That Hill.


End file.
